


Stepping Sideways

by elisi, redjaded (timeheist)



Series: Not the Last [12]
Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Jumping to Conclusions, Multi, aggressive sarcasm, mutual antagonism, ott flirting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-01
Updated: 2017-09-17
Packaged: 2018-05-10 22:39:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 30
Words: 40,680
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5603551
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elisi/pseuds/elisi, https://archiveofourown.org/users/timeheist/pseuds/redjaded
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Travel is more than the seeing of sights; it is a change that goes on, deep and permanent, in the ideas of living.” – Miriam Beard (or: The Seeker takes some time out to travel and think things over)</p><p>Basically each story in 'Stepping Sideways' is a visit to a different universe/character, allowing the Seeker to be seen with fresh eyes by his nearest and dearest. (The Doctor, Jack, Roda and finally Missy)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Pete's World 1

**Author's Note:**

> Set immediately post-[A Good Day](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1141152/chapters/2308808), but can be read on its own.

_“I soon realized that no journey carries one far unless, as it extends into the world around us, it goes an equal distance into the world within.”  
Lillian Smith_

 

It was just a normal day. In the way that most days being married to the Doctor were normal...

Although, to be fair, it didn’t often involve a tree materialising in the middle of their lawn. That one was new, partly just because of being so low key.

For a moment Rose thought she might just not be quite awake yet, having yet to put the kettle on, but the tree was definitely there, and looked very real and solid.

“Doctor!” she called out.

“Hm?” he replied, his head popping into the kitchen from the living room, looking as if he’d slept in his clothes. Well, he’d probably not slept at all. Despite being ‘human’, he still kept very odd hours. She supposed nine hundred years of keeping your own time couldn’t be changed overnight. Or over five years, rather.

“There’s a tree in the garden,” she said, realising how incredibly stupid she sounded as soon as she’d said the words, so just pointed to it.

He looked out of the window, following the direction of her finger, and scratched his head.

(He'd clearly not looked in a mirror, his hair was all over the place.)

“I… should probably investigate,” he said, holding up a hand before she could speak.

“And you’ve not even had breakfast yet, so stay and put the kettle on. Looks like a plum tree… I like plums, I hope it’s a real tree.”

She rolled her eyes (as if it was going to be real) and watched him from the window as he cautiously approached the tree, but forgot about the kettle as she saw him suddenly stop, then step forwards with a strange hesitancy she couldn’t place, but that pinged something in her mind.

Slowly, slowly he reached out, laying his hand on the tree trunk, and she could swear he seemed to momentarily falter.

Having a hyper-aware sense for when things were about to go wrong, she swiftly went to the back door which the Doctor had left half open, but froze as she looked out, as at that moment a golden-glowing rectangle opened in the tree, outlining a tall figure.

(Why did stuff like this _always_ happen to them? _Still?_ Why did the Doctor draw weirdness to them even now he was half-way normal, like he was some sort of bizarro alien magnet? Not that she didn’t like the weirdness, but she hadn’t even had a cuppa yet.)

Although the stranger at least didn’t look like a lunatic, nor did he immediately try to kill, shoot or eat them. It was a dark-haired young man; dressed in a purple jacket, black trousers and shoes, and he took a step forward, looking as cautious as the Doctor, before he spoke:

“Doctor? Before you say anything, I _know_ I’m crossing my own timeline, but this is where my TARDIS brought me, so I’m guessing there’s a reason I’m here. And hey - if this universe starts collapsing I’ll have help fixing it.”

He grinned as the Doctor stared in shocked silence, and Rose gripped the door frame so hard her fingers hurt.

Then the stranger looked up and saw her.

In an instant his face changed and he backed away, as if warding off some great evil.

“That - is that Rose Tyler? I... I shouldn’t be here. I _can’t_ be here, I made _sure_ to programme the TARDIS never to- Doctor! Listen! _Forget me!_ Make sure she forgets me too. I’m from your future, you don’t even know I _exist_ , you shouldn’t-”

He turned on his heel, but the Doctor desperately called out “Wait!” and grabbed his wrist.

As if hit by an electric current the strange Time Lord stopped and pivoted.

(A Time Lord. A _Time Lord_ in their garden. Of all the impossible things to have befallen them, this was the most incredible.)

The Doctor let go, but this time the stranger reached out and it was the Doctor who backed away.

“Doctor... What happened to you? You’re... you’re so faint... like you’re nothing more than an echo...” The stranger stopped, concentrating, as if listening.

“My God, there’s only me.” Slowly turning his eyes back on the Doctor, he seemed to be holding some strong emotion at bay. “What happened? Where-when the hell am I? What _is_ this universe?”

The Doctor swallowed. “You’re in Pete’s world.”

The other stared for a full second in stunned silence, then smiled - bright and happy, yet clearly still curious.

“Well, that part makes sense. _You_ still don’t.”

He stepped up the Doctor, studying him closely, like the Doctor was some strange, exotic creature he had never seen before, and he wanted to drag him into a lab and do experiments on him.

“Perfect in every detail. What _are_ you? Not a robot, not a Nestene, not a flesh copy, not a clone, nor a Zygon I don’t think… _Fascinating_.”

Then he turned to Rose.

“Are _you_ real? As in the real Rose?”

As the Doctor was still struck silent with pure shock, Rose walked forwards, eyeing the stranger calmly (and hopefully intimidatingly).

“Yes, I’m the real Rose Tyler. And who are you?”

“ _I_ ,” he replied slowly, “am the Seeker. And I never thought I’d get to meet _you_.”

With this he took her hand and kissed it, studying her candidly even as he looked amused at her hostility. She noticed that his eyes were a very bright green.

“ _The_ Rose Tyler, well I’ll be... Never thought I’d actually meet you properly. Considered bumping into you at some point before you met the Doctor of course, but timelines… Oh, they’re fragile things, and I didn’t want to wipe out my own existence. And to meet you now, like this? Well, it just goes to show that there are stranger things in the world than anyone has ever dreamed of… Would you tell me your story? You’re the Rose that _married_ the Doctor - well some version of the Doctor...”

He glanced at the man in question.

“So - come in, sit down, I’ll make some tea?”

He held out his hand towards the TARDIS door, but the Doctor finally found his voice.

“How… how are you here? Who are you? This is… Not _possible_.”

The new Time Lord - what was his name? Seeker? It was certainly weird enough - shot him a droll look.

“Like I once said to _my_ Doctor: please sit down and make a list of all the impossible things to have happened in your life. That should take you the best part of a week. Or you could just accept that there’s something else going on… And in this case, I can even give you an explanation.”

The Doctor still looked hesitant, and Rose took his hand, shooting him a look that hopefully said ‘It’s a Time Lord! Isn’t that _good_?’

He smiled back at her, but was clearly still deeply ambivalent, and she wanted to shake him.

A new Time Lord! It really _was_ impossible, and she could feel excitement tingle all over. Why was the Doctor behaving so oddly?

She looked back up to find the Seeker watching them with a look Rose couldn’t work out. It seemed somehow calculating, but when he spoke there was still amusement in his voice.

“Oh and I should probably point out that the controls are isomorphic.”

With that he turned and walked through the door to his TARDIS.

“Why the cheeky-” the Doctor said, and laughter drifted out from the tree.

"And now I feel at home..."

“Come on,” she said, tugging on his hand. “Aren’t you excited?”

He studied her with those brown eyes that held her whole world, and looked all over misgivings.

“That’s one word for it…”

Then he pulled himself together, confidence overlaying the worry almost like a shutter coming down, and, head held high, he strode through the door.


	2. Pete's World 2

Once inside the stranger’s TARDIS, Rose found that they were in a comfortingly familiar circular space, the same size as the control room she had known – except the _look_ of the interior was very different.

Walls and floor were a gleaming white, the time rotor in the middle glowed golden and the controls were sleek and stylish and less… higgledy-piggledy.

Overall it would have looked very much like 'a proper spaceship’, except for how there were red-and-white sofas and cupboards lining the walls. Trying to categorise it, she settled on 'Proper spaceship crossed with upmarket IKEA'.

Looking down, she saw that beneath her feet there was a black mat with a red, circular Timelord-y pattern woven in.

“It says ‘welcome’,” the Doctor said absentmindedly, his eyes on their host who was leaning against the central control panel, watching them.

“Do you like it? I made it myself.”

“It’s a bit…” the Doctor hesitated, wiggling his fingers as if playing an invisible keytar.

“New?” the Seeker suggested, with a loaded smile, “Because that’s what I was going to say about you. You’re something _new_. If I put the kettle on, will you tell me your story?” 

The Doctor watched him, and Rose could feel unsaid somethings weighing down the air.

(Why? Why why _why_? She knew this mask - it meant he was suspicious, but wanted to investigate.)

“Very well.”

They sat down on a sofa, and the Seeker started rummaging through cupboards, getting out a beautiful old teapot, cups and saucers along with tea - real tea, that he claimed he grew himself.

“Beautiful china,” the Doctor remarked, picking up a porcelain cup, and the Seeker smiled.

“It is, isn’t it? Family heirloom, believe it or not.”

The Doctor nodded, so casual that Rose began to feel genuinely worried. Something was terribly wrong, but he wasn’t going to say. And what did a teacup have to do with anything?

The Seeker, unconcerned, disappeared through a doorway which apparently led to a small kitchen as he emerged a little later with freshly brewed tea and various biscuits and buns.

A china teacup in his hands, looking as if it was perfectly normal for him to exist, the new Time Lord leaned back in the adjacent sofa, studying them.

“Go on - what are you?”

The Doctor readily enough launched into the tale, and the Seeker listened with great attentiveness to their story, never interrupting until the Doctor came to the part when he was ‘created’. At this point he suddenly sat up, eyes bright and excited and almost unnervingly focussed.

“Human-Time Lord meta-crisis? That’s... that’s _genius_! Why have I never thought of that?”

A beat, then he shook his head.

“Sorry, I’m interrupting. But _damn_ , that’s brilliant. Of course it’d be much preferable if the conditions were properly controlled… I mean, please continue.”

The Doctor took up the story thread again, but the Seeker seemed a little preoccupied. Although as the story came to its end, with their abandonment on Pete’s World, he began to ask more questions, most of them so technical that Rose began to lose interest. He was certainly Time-brain-y enough…

But then, as she was trying to choose which biscuit to have next (hurrah for unorthodox breakfasts!), the Doctor suddenly grabbed her hand so hard that she almost cried out.

“Rose - don’t move,” he said, voice low and deadly serious, and, confused, she looked up to see four large metallic balls floating in the air above the Seeker’s head, having apparently popped out of thin air. The Doctor’s face was a mask, and Rose couldn’t begin to guess what was happening, except that something had suddenly gone wrong. (But how had he known?)

Then the spheres started talking, and their voices were happy and chatty and not at all metallic and cold like she’d thought they might be.

“Confirmed - this is Pete’s World.”

“It matches the data we took from the Doctor’s TARDIS.”

"We have updated our data banks and synced all information."

The Seeker smiled up at them. “Thank you darlings. But look - while you were gone I found some local guides...”

He turned back to face the two of them, but when his eyes met the Doctor’s he seemed to almost freeze.

There was a long silence, then the Seeker spoke, voice carefully neutral.

“I’m not him.”

The Doctor raised his eyebrows in mock-surprise, but despite the lightness of his voice his steely grasp of Rose’s hand never lessened.

“I don’t know how you brought yourself back, but I think it’s fairly safe to say that _you_ are more _him_ , than I am me.” His eyes narrowed, and his voice turned bitingly sarcastic. “You know, I did wonder - which Time Lord could _possibly_ drop down into our laps like this? One that happened to survive the Time War, _and_ knows my face, _and_ knows that he should not interfere with timelines containing Rose Tyler…”

“Doctor-”

“No doubt you have some wonderfully diabolical plan,” the Doctor continued blithely, as Rose, with sinking heart, realised that the ‘Seeker’ was probably an old enemy. In whose TARDIS they were now stuck. Typical Doctor trick to walk right into the lion’s mouth...

“Nice new body, probably left your old universe behind in a right state and thought you’d just crash through to somewhere new… And really, good job on all fronts. I have no idea how you grew a TARDIS, although I must admit, I’m impressed. But the _china_ , Master. Slipped up there I’m afraid. Lucy’s best china, oh I well remember how she’d get it out for special occasions. Not that I was invited to sit at the table of course, but it’s pretty distinctive. It was her grandmother’s I believe-”

“Doctor!”

The Doctor stopped, and the stranger glared at him, speaking very slowly:

“I. Am. Not. _Him_.”

The Doctor pulled his best overbearing face.

“Oh, of _course_ not, trying to get by with a different name, at least it’s not an anagram of ‘Master’, or some stupid pun, I must agree that’s a new approach. And no rubbish beard either-”

“By Pythia’s curse, why can you _never_ shut up? _Listen_ to me! I’m not him!”

A beat, then he added: “I’m his son.”

The Doctor raised a single eyebrow, so dismissive Rose almost flinched.

“Nice try.”

The Seeker looked as if was only through sheer willpower that he was not banging his head against the table. (Rose knew that look - she wore it often enough herself. And despite the Doctor's clear hostility she thought that maybe the new Time Lord was telling the truth. The annoyance was far too pronounced to be an attempt at lying.)

“I’m not technically Gallifreyan, I was born during the Year That Never Was. Lucy was my mother. I _inherited_ the china, as it belonged to _my great_ -grandmother.”

Still skeptical, the Doctor glanced up at the spheres.

“And the flying monkeys?”

At this the Seeker suddenly smiled.

“You think I’m the Wicked Witch of the West? Go on my dears, tell our guests who you are.”

And the spheres started speaking again, one after the other, in a strange sing-song.

“We are the Toclafane-”

“We are the saviours of worlds-”

“We vanquished the Daleks in the Medusa Cascade-”

“Our songs will live forever.”

Still smiling, the Seeker held the Doctor’s eyes.

“You see Doctor, I’m a _hero_. In my world there was no meta-crisis, no Donna, no Rose or any of that… The day was saved by me and my Toclafane.”

The Doctor shook his head.

“I don’t believe you.”

Their host shrugged, demeanour turning frosty.

“Fine, suit yourself. Rose - it was nice meeting you.”

He held out his hand, and as if in a dream she shook it.

Then he got to his feet, walked to the door, opened it.

“Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ll be on my way.”

“You’re throwing us out?” the Doctor asked, and the Seeker watched him coldly.

“You called me a liar. I decided to go travelling to get _away_ from arguments, not to start more. You go off and live your lives, I’ll hop across to the next universe along and find something else to divert me. So yes, please be so kind as to bugger off.”

“Doctor-” Rose spoke up, having watched in silence, but now studying his face very carefully. “Are you _sure_?”

_(‘This is a chance that’ll never come again!’_ she tried to communicate, _‘A chance at **anything**. He created a TARDIS. He can travel between dimensions… Oh Doctor, I love you, but **please** don’t be stupid, like you so often are...’)_

The Doctor was looking from her to the Seeker to the spheres, indecisiveness writ large on his face.

“I’m happy to stay,” the Seeker continued. “But you’ll have to _trust_ me.”

A long moment, as the Doctor seemed to struggle with himself. Then, torn, but unrepentant, he gave but a fraction of an inch: “I believe you’re his son.”

The Seeker didn’t smile, but his eyes seemed to glow.

“Well, I suppose it’s a start.”


	3. Pete's World 3

Closing the TARDIS door, the Seeker tilted his head.

“I can prove it, of course. Who I am. But you might not want me to…”

Rose crossed her arms.

“You keep speaking in riddles. _Both_ of you. Can you just explain what’s happening?”

The Seeker studied her.

“Has he never told you about the Master? His... ‘Best Enemy’?”

“Well… A few things, yes…”

With a sigh the Seeker sat himself back down, poured another cup of tea, and went on to explain who he was. The Doctor had told her about The Year That Never Was, but apparently in the Seeker’s time line this ‘Master’ and his wife had had a baby… Who had grown up to the man in front of them. The Doctor still looked highly sceptical, so at the end of his tale the Seeker tilted his head.

“And if you _still_ want proof… I’ve got home videos?”

Getting to his feet, he walked to the central console, tapped some buttons.

“Hmmm. Well, this one’s short…” He turned, studied the Doctor. “Are you sure?”

“Well _I_ would like to see it,” Rose decided, and he smiled.

“This happens to be one of my favourites - Christmas when I was four. I should probably mention that I have regenerated a couple of times since then.”

He pressed a button and a dinner table appeared on the screen, tastefully decorated and full of traditional English Christmas fare. Rose saw an attractive, blonde woman carefully serve out portions, as a man she presumed to be the Master and a little blonde boy pulled a cracker. (Strange that this child was the same as the black haired man with the mercurial eyes… The youngster looked absolutely adorable, and ever so normal.) 

The boy squealed in delight at the loud pop, and instantly pulled out the crown hidden inside and put it on the Master’s head. Laughing, he then picked up another cracker, and moments later he himself was also sporting a colourful tissue crown. Jumping onto his father’s lap, he turned to the camera and smiled.

“Look Uncle - now we look just like a king and a prince, like Daddy says we are.”

The Master chuckled and shot the camera a droll look. “Which makes your Uncle the court jester. What do you think my prince, shall he entertain us?”

“Yes yes!” the boy clapped. “Uncle - sing the song of Salyavin, please?”

“Darling - you need to sit down in your own seat and eat your dinner before it goes cold,” the woman said, and the boy sighed. “OK Mummy - but later Uncle?”

“Of course,” the Doctor’s voice replied, and then the film stopped.

Looking up, Rose realised that the Seeker’s eyes were on her Doctor, who’d gone very still.

“I _did_ warn you…” the Seeker said softly, and Rose saw that for whatever reason the short home movie had prised open the giant aching hollow that her Doctor tried his best to live with. The hollow that was labelled ‘Everything I lost’. The hollow where there used to be a second heart, a TARDIS, a body that didn’t age, _freedom_ … And, apparently, this Master, his ‘Best Enemy’.

The things she had to make up for wasn’t fair, and if she could have the actual real Doctor to talk to again, she might let him know that… Sometimes, like now, it seemed as if she spent half her life pretending they weren’t papering over the vast cracks that were an inexorable part of their lives. 

She’d thought that maybe this new Time Lord might be a good thing, but it was possible she had been wrong… 

“Why don’t you show me your work?” the Seeker suggested, and the Doctor snapped out of his moody thoughts.

“You want to go to Torchwood? _Why_?”

The suspicion was back with a vengeance, and the Seeker seemed taken aback.

“Why so hostile? What could you _possibly_ have that I would want?”

The Doctor stared, speechless, as the Seeker held his eyes, challenging. Then the Doctor, still watchful, folded his arms.

“Depends how much of your father’s son you are.”

The Seeker’s mouth twisted.

“I don’t play games, Doctor. Not in the way you two do.”

He seemed to suppress a shudder.

“One reason I like that particular little video so much, is that you’re _not fighting_. My whole childhood sometimes seemed to be nothing but the two of you fighting.” A beat. “Over me, in case that wasn’t obvious. I am _here_ , partly, just to get away from that particular battle, since- since the stakes were raised after my war. I want… no drama. Regarding Torchwood, then I’ve always liked it, and quite frankly can’t believe that a) you work there, and b) that you work at all.”


	4. Pete's World 4

Mere moments later they stepped out of the TARDIS next to Rose’s office. Looking over her shoulder she realised it had turned into a tall official-looking cabinet, and the Seeker caught her look.

“Yes, it has a functioning chameleon circuit. Very useful thing.”

“Show-off,” the Doctor muttered under his breath, and the Seeker bowed ironically. “I was well taught. But please lead on. I am in your hands.”

Of course the second they went into the Doctor’s office, Yvonne showed up. The Doctor had, over time, adjusted to her (and suppressed his guilt over the other Yvonne’s death), but they still had their very pronounced differences, and had regular arguments over Torchwood’s role. Rose suspected that one major reason the Doctor had agreed to taking the job was to keep tabs on them all - Yvonne especially.

The Seeker’s tactic was vastly different.

Yvonne was of course as curious as ten cats, asking who their friend was - but before they could reply the Seeker smiled, the charm practically dripping off him, as he took her hand and kissed it, much like he had Rose’s.

Except he seemed to hold her eyes for a very long time.

“Yvonne Hartman. You must excuse my appearing like this, unannounced. The good Doctor talked me into coming, and I decided to be spontaneous for once. I’m Professor Saxon, I’m sure you’ve heard of me? I’m a bit of hermit I know, hiding away in Cambridge, but I have been following your work here at Torchwood for quite some time, as you’re probably aware. I hope I have your permission to have a little nosy around?”

Yvonne smiled back, clearly flattered.

“Why of _course_ Professor Saxon.”

“Please, call me Alex,” the Seeker replied, by now outright flirting, and she gave him a slow look-over, clearly liking what she saw.

“Certainly, _Alex_. Any chance we could drag you out of Cambridge a little more often?”

“Well, if I could be certain _you_ would be here…” he said, and her returning gaze was practically bordering on indecent.

“My diary is very full, but I’ll see what I can do...”

With a final smile, full of promise, she turned from the Seeker to Rose and the Doctor, expression cooling.

“Well, I must run. Don’t set anything on fire! Again.”

However she had barely exited the room before the Doctor was in the Seeker’s face.

“Yes, I can see the family resemblance now… ‘I don’t play games’. Ha!”

The Seeker looked completely unconcerned, half turning to his right and saying “Harvey - cover story 5a. Adjust for this universe’s variances.”

“What are you doing?” Rose asked, and he replied readily enough.

“Stitching myself into this world. The Toclafane can access official files, and in a little while I’ll exist. Makes life so much simpler.”

“And hypnotising people? So much simpler as well…” the Doctor said, cuttingly, and the Seeker shrugged.

“Not hypnosis as _such_ … More like the psychic paper. Except without the actual paper. Same result, and far more efficient.”

“I _bet_ it is,” the Doctor said, and the Seeker frowned.

“You have a problem with me chatting up your boss? Because I don’t see how it can be your business whom she goes out with.”

“No, I have problem with your lies and the way you abuse your power.”

The Seeker’s cool green eyes didn’t so much as flicker.

“Oh Doctor… Pots and kettles and infinite layers of unpleasant mirrors. Please stop, I’ve been down this road too often to count. There is a difference between _using_ and _abusing_. And incidentally I didn’t lie. I _did_ study at Cambridge - astrophysics, since you didn’t ask.” He smiled; relaxed, calm, confident. “I was awarded a higher doctorate.” 

There was a pause, then he stepped back.

“Rose - go on, will _you_ show me around without jumping down my neck?”

She didn’t know what to think. He didn’t really fit into anything. She was predisposed to liking him, but didn’t know if this was because he’d been ‘charming’ her too… No, the Doctor would have picked up on that. Right?

“What do I call you?” she finally asked, and he hesitated.

“Good question. Professor? Or Alex? Or Saxon? It’s up to you.”

“But not ‘Seeker’?”

“It’s Torchwood. I am not keen on being quizzed about stuff I can’t give them. So if you wouldn’t mind sticking with my human alias.”

“Hang on-” she said, suddenly seeing the conversation with Yvonne in a new light.

“Yes,” he smirked, seemingly reading her mind. “I didn’t want her to know what I am... And flirting is a _great_ distraction… Jack taught me many things. And I learned even more on my own. I am exceedingly good at manipulating people when I want to.”

“And… _me_?” she asked, and he waggled his hand.

“Bout 50-50?”

“How touchingly honest,” the Doctor replied drily, and the Seeker chuckled, even as he shook his head.

“Can we stop this, and have a look around? I see no harm in wanting an easy life, and like I said - I left to get away from the arguments for just a little while. Why don’t you get out a notepad and make a list of all the things I do that you dislike? We can go through it tonight, and I can tell you just how many you taught me in the first place.”


	5. Pete's World 5

In the end, none of the Doctor’s misgivings came true. Nor did the Seeker disappear off to cosy up to Yvonne.

They spent the morning looking through the labs, the projects and the various alien artifacts, and the Doctor had eventually given in to the inevitable Time Lord geeking-out bonding with the Seeker.

Halfway through explaining one particular experiment, the Doctor glanced at the Seeker, casually asking:

“So, how did you get here?”

The Seeker glanced back, just as casually replying.

“Very simple – I asked a Dalek.”

The Doctor glared.

“Very funny. If you don’t want to share, you could just have said.”

The Seeker tilted his head.

“But that _is_ the answer. I asked a Dalek.”

There was a pause, as Rose and the Doctor exchanged a look.

“Not just any Dalek, of course,” the Seeker clarified.

“So… which _particular_ Dalek did you ask then?” Rose asked, and he grinned winningly.

“The one I keep as a pet!”

“Oh for goodness sake,” the Doctor said, pulling an exasperated face, and then changed the subject.

~~~

They ended up being late for lunch, of course.

The ladies in the canteen were busy clearing up by the time they arrived, waving happily at them, and Rose sighed and turned on the spot.

“Guess we’re going out. Again.”

Pondering their options she turned to the Doctor: 

“Shall we get NASA to come along? If I know her, she’ll not have eaten either…”

“Sure,” the Doctor replied, a glint in his eyes. “I’d like to see our new friend here try to patronise _her_.”

Rose rolled her eyes fondly, and they all went down the corridor to NASA’s office.

“Who is this NASA?” the Seeker asked, intrigued, and the Doctor readily filled in:

“NASA is obviously not her actual name - it’s just what everyone calls her since that’s where she’s from. As in, that’s where she usually works; we’ve only got her on loan. One of the brightest minds of her generation, and really quite something. Very argumentative, mind you…”

Stopping by her door, Rose chuckled at the note taped to it:

_‘If you knock before entering, I promise I won’t bite.’_

Knocking as instructed, she pushed the door open, calling out: “Allie? Fancy some lunch? We’ve got a visitor you might like to meet…”

“One mo,” Allison said, eyes on the screen and busy typing. “People are being stupid, I need to explain everything with cardboard cutouts apparently.”

“We’ll surely the cardboard can wait until after lunch?” Rose replied, turning back to her two Time Lords. “Doctor Whitwell is trying to drag herself away, but I’m not sure it’ll be a success. We might have to use force-”

She stopped as she took in the expression on the Seeker’s face. He seemed paler than before, shaking his head and looking as if he’d seen a ghost, the easy superiority completely gone.

“I’m sorry. I- I can’t do this,” he said - and promptly vanished.

A second later Allison popped her head round the door saying: “Go on then, where’s this interesting visitor?”

“He… had to leave,” Rose replied, lamely, “I’m sure he’ll be back in a moment.”

But he didn’t return.

The Seeker - and his TARDIS - were gone.


	6. Pete's World 6 (Interlude)

It wasn’t _his_ twin sunset, but it would have to do.

On the plus side it would last for months, so he didn’t have to move. (He was not so little anymore, but he was still a prince…)

__

> _
> 
> If you could fly to France in one minute, you could go straight into the sunset, right from noon. Unfortunately, France is too far away for that. But on your tiny planet, my little prince, all you need do is move your chair a few steps. You can see the day end and the twilight falling whenever you like…
> 
> "One day," you said to me, "I saw the sunset forty-four times!"
> 
> And a little later you added:
> 
> "You know-- one loves the sunset, when one is so sad..."
> 
> "Were you so sad, then?" I asked, "on the day of the forty-four sunsets?"
> 
> But the little prince made no reply.
> 
> _

  
The Seeker could feel his TARDIS’s warm bark against his back as he drank in the clear unimpeded view in front of him, the bare landscape stretching out to the horizon, and settled down to _think_.

He’d decided to travel in order to clear his head; to see everything as clearly as he could - and that, he now realised, did not just include his future, but also his past.

_Two suns; two worlds, one of them still holding both his hearts._

He might be here a while…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quote from Le Petit Prince/The Little Prince by Antoine de Saint-Exupéry


	7. Pete's World 7

There were times when, despite everything, Allison questioned her own intelligence. But this day had effortlessly made it to number one.

The offer from Torchwood had been almost irresistible; but only almost. 

NASA looked _outwards_ , towards the stars, trying to map the Earth’s future… But Torchwood dealt with all the stuff that came the other way. And not just the technology (which she was keen on), but also actual aliens, sometimes wanting to destroy the world.

She had calculated the odds, and come up with an 18% chance of an alien invasion whilst she was stationed there. 18% hadn’t seemed much when she’d accepted the offer. But now, standing on the top floor of Torchwood tower, with purple lizards holding the Earth to ransom, trying to force Torchwood to open the portal to other dimensions, those 18 percent loomed large in her mind. 

Allison herself had been hauled along as a ‘chief scientific advisor’, although she’d tried to protest that this was far from her field of expertise. But big scary guns were really quite a compelling argument.

When she and the other scientists had arrived at the top floor, with the white blank wall guarded by yet more lizards, they’d found Yvonne arguing with the aliens through a rather awkward translator, although Yvonne had been standing her ground extremely well, keeping her cool as always.

That said, she had faltered somewhat when the lizards had shortly thereafter come along with the Doctor and Rose, who had apparently been trying to enact some sort of terribly clever counterattack, using - in the Doctor’s words - ‘a kettle and a bit of string’. Allison had of course heard many stories about the adventures of Torchwood’s most famous couple - quite a few told to her by Rose herself - but she had never wanted to actually feature in one herself.

By now it was the Doctor arguing with the aliens, pointing out that ‘Open the portal or we destroy the world’ was a very bad gambit, as opening the portal would probably destroy the world _anyway_ , so it was a lose-lose situation for humanity. And if the lizards destroyed the world, they’d take the portal with them, so really, the whole thing was very very stupid and maybe they could talk it over?

The lizards, sadly, were not in the mood for chit-chat.

Yvonne at this point coldly stated that Earth had plenty of weapons, many of them more than capable of destroying spaceships, and the lizards smiled long sharp toothy smiles, explaining that they had twenty _thousand_ ships, all of them heavily shielded. 

Allison felt her heart sink, trying her best to fight against the nausea. Seven years since the cybermen, five since the stars had been going out… (Goodness knew what else had happened that had been covered up - she’d found out a few things she wished she didn’t know.) And so many people had died… She thought of her family, knew they’d be worried about her, wondered if she’d ever see any of them again.

Where was the magic way out that Rose had said always presented itself? The miracle that appeared from out of nowhere and saved the day?

At that moment there was a sudden gust of wind, and a Greek column materialised against the white wall.

As everyone stopped and turned towards it, a door opened in the side of the column and out stepped a young man. The sheer incongruity (coupled with the Doctor’s distinctly muttered ‘Why you little...’) made her unable to do more than just stare, trying to wrap her head around what she was seeing.

She guessed he was not much more than thirty, with black hair and a neat beard, and very distinctive green eyes, and he was dressed in what had to be the sharpest black suit she had ever seen, his white shirt practically gleaming, his shoes brightly polished. In one hand he held a lit cigar. Overall he looked as if he had stepped out of an exclusive gentlemen’s club, not a… whatever the column was. Some sort of teleport booth? But where had it come from?

His eyes fastened on the Doctor with what could only be described as exasperation.

“How do you do it Doctor? I come back for the sole purpose of asking a girl - or young woman, rather - to have a cup of coffee with me, and find you in the middle of an alien invasion. You know, I actually went and checked whether you’d painted a big target on the planet, because I wouldn't put it past you. But no - clearly you are just a trouble magnet.”

Turning to the rest of them, he made a sweeping motion with the cigar.

“For the rest of you, then I’m afraid I was somewhat economical with the truth. Yes I went to Cambridge, and I have several professorships, but I’m also a Time Lord from a parallel universe. Just passing through, taking in the sights…”

He sighed, finally sizing up the lizards, most of whom were now pointing their big scary guns towards him.

“And _you_. Wanting to jump into another dimension. Do you have the _slightest_ idea how complicated that is?”

Taking a drag of the cigar, he studied them with narrowed eyes.

“And holding the Earth hostage. Well it was a nice effort.” A cold smile. “There are three people in this room who have committed genocide. Guess what? None of them are a lizard. Has the Doctor suggested sitting down and talking things over yet? Because that’s an offer you should take him up on.”

“Who are you?” the head lizard asked (in _English_? How come she suddenly understood lizard-language Allison wondered), and the stranger smiled pleasantly.

“You may call me Alexander the Great. And I’m afraid I’m here to stop your fun.”

The lizards smiled, and fired their guns.

Allison was too shocked to even scream, instead grasping the hand of the scientist next to her - and then realised that this Alexander was apparently shielded, as the lasers (or whatever they were) merely created silvery patterns across a globe of air surrounding the column. Alexander calmly kept smoking, as he pulled out a metallic tool, reminding Allison of the thing the Doctor called his ‘sonic screwdriver’. She’d tried to get it off him several times so she could inspect it, but he always mumbled stuff about ‘Time Lord technology’ and wouldn’t let her near.

Holding up the tool, he tilted his head.

“Now listen carefully. If I press _this button_ , all your spaceships - all twenty thousand of them, yes - will go ‘boom’.”

He cast a glance at the Doctor.

“Laser screwdriver. Who’d have sonic?” he remarked cheekily, and the Doctor looked as if he was torn between nearly fainting and incoherent fury. 

Turning back to the lizards, he smiled politely.

“So. I believe we can now have a pleasant little chat, am I right?”

Half-embarrassed Allison let go of the hand she was holding, although she still felt somewhat light headed. It had actually happened: A miracle had appeared from out of nowhere and had saved the day.


	8. Pete's World 8

About an hour later Allison was back in her office, having called every member of her family to reassure them that _she_ was fine, and _everything_ was fine, and the world was _safe._

She should probably go somewhere, or do something, or see one of the trauma specialists that Torchwood had far too many of, but she didn’t want to move. Decisions seemed… like too much work.

The aliens had all gone off to the Medusa Cascade (something about a rift in the space-time fabric, and Alexander-the-Time-Lord helping them to go where they wanted), and normally she’d have been unable to keep away from something that fascinating, but today…

She stared at the screen, ignoring the countless messages that kept popping up.

Ideally she wanted to go to sleep. Maybe for a month. Yes, she was probably in shock she decided. (She could still remember the smell of the cyber factories, burning… Oh god, what _was_ the world? How did any of it make sense?)

Then, as if sent by providence to save her from her thoughts, there was a knock on the door.

“Come in,” she said, half-hoping it might be Rose. She wanted someone who would say that this had been _nothing_ , and honestly - compared to that time with the Daleks...

Instead the door opened to reveal Alexander, who stepped through quietly, and then closed the door behind him.

She stared at him, wondering what on Earth he could be doing in her office. He seemed unreal. Handsome, cool, and completely… _other_. Like something from a fairytale. A very stylish out-of-this-world sci-fi fairytale. (The Doctor had been complaining at great length about how Alexander had apparently copied everything from his father, but Allison didn’t care that he looked like a villain. He’d saved the Earth, that was the important thing.)

“Are you lost?” she asked, and he thought for a moment, tilting his head and studying her with those unusual green eyes.

“Yes. In a manner of speaking, I am definitely lost… Sorry, no, that’s a terrible opening.” He paused.

“What I came to ask is… Would you like to maybe... I don’t know... Go grab a cup of coffee or something? Not this instant, but at some point? It’s a very selfish request, and a very personal one, but you… You could help me be… not quite as lost.”

She looked at him mutely, remembering his words from earlier. _She_ was the girl? She, Allison Whitwell?

( _Doctor_ Whitwell, a small voice corrected in her head, still pleased with her achievements.)

“Why me?” she eventually asked, unable to wrap her mind around his words.

He smiled sadly, looking very human, and very vulnerable.

“Because you were the love of my life.”

She should probably be flattered, or touched, or something like that. Instead she could only stare, stupefied.

“I… _what_?”

He shook his head.

“I’m sorry, I’m terrible at this. Always have been. You’d have thought three hundred years’ distance would help, but no.” A deep breath. “What I mean is that the Allison from _my_ world was the love of my life. And I lost her. I… thought you might be able to help me make peace with that. Which, like I said, is terribly selfish. So if you want to tell me to get lost, I will. I have no right to interfere in your life.”

This was… unreal. This man - no, _alien_ \- who had dismissed twenty thousand warships with a flick of his wrist, was standing in her office, laying his heart in her hands.

( _‘All of time and space’_ , Rose was whispering in her mind, _‘And a man who adores you. How could anyone turn that down?’_ )

She opened her mouth, but he held up his hand.

“Wait. Don’t reply yet. I am not the Doctor and you are not Rose. My Allison and I did not frolick about the universe having madcap adventures, and I did not lose her because she did something stupendously brave to save the world.”

He paused, as she tried to take this on board.

“I am not a hero, nor do I have the slightest desire to be one. I would have destroyed those ships if necessary – all twenty thousand of them – and not lost any sleep. Don’t get me wrong – I do not enjoy killing, and I am happy we found another way. But I’ll do what needs doing in order to make the world a safer place, and not worry overmuch about the methods. And I’m only passing through, like I said – I’m not going to stay, and I’m not interested in a relationship. I just want to… talk. Because you’re Allison. And I know you’ll be honest with me.”

Reaching into an inside pocket, he pulled out a small card.

“Like I said, you don’t have to make up your mind right now. Think about it. If you… would be so kind as to do me this favour, give me a call – or just send me a text. Otherwise, just ignore me.”

He stepped back, opened the door, then hesitated.

“Just tell me one thing – is your brother Toby dating an Irish imp called Troy?” he asked, and she blinked at the complete unexpectedness, before eventually nodding. He’d said he knew her very well indeed…

He smiled.

“Good. I worry about that lad. I hope you’re nice to him, he needs the love.”

And with that he left.

Allison didn’t move for the longest time. This was not a fairytale – far from it. That still left the question what exactly it was; and what she was going to do…


	9. Pete's World 9

The Caffe Nero was comfortingly normal, but Allison felt more nervous than before a blind date. She’d come early, occupying a seat at the back from where she could see the door, and at a minute before their agreed time he turned up.

For a long time she had debated back-and-forth with herself, and in the end it turned out to be the random query about her brother’s boyfriend that had tipped the balance. She wasn’t particularly keen on him, as he was Irish and loud and more than a bit abrasive, and she couldn’t for the life of her work out what her brother saw in him… But he was devoted, she’d give him that. Even so - of all the people for her alien ‘admirer’ to enquire after, Troy seemed to her the least obvious. 

Seeing that she already had a drink, Alexander bought himself a coffee and made his way to her, taking a seat opposite her. He was wearing a purple blazer, but the rest of the outfit was as smart as before – and she liked the beard, oh yes. Whatever could be said for her other self in his world, they certainly had the same taste in men.

“Thank you,” he said simply, and she fidgeted with her cup.

“I have some questions,” she began. “First of all - why did you ask about Troy?”

He looked surprised.

“I just wanted to make sure he was OK in this reality too. But if he’s with Toby, he’ll be fine. We… I guess the best description might be that we bonded, back in the day, wondering how two damaged creatures like us had somehow ended up in the jackpot of families.”

She understood the description of her family - she knew she was lucky - but frowned at the use of the word ‘damaged’.

“What do you mean ‘damaged’?”

He shook his head, eyes guarded.

“His secrets are not mine to tell. And my father is an evil, psychotic megalomaniac - I’m sure you can imagine how that impacted me. Next question?”

Well, that was her told. The thing that struck her, however, was how he was reacting much like Toby did - open, yet defensive at the same time. Happy enough to explain his own side, yet protective of Troy… It somehow made her trust him more, especially since he had no reason to go out of his way to enquire. 

A small thing - small, but significant. However, there were other issues.

“Why me?” she asked, then raised her eyes, studying him. She’d turned it all over in her head, and narrowed it down to this one issue.

“Sorry to be so blunt, but what is it you can only ask me, and not ‘your’ Allison? You said she wasn’t lost the same way as Rose, so presumably she’s still around?”

For a moment he didn’t answer, but the look in his eyes made her falter. 

“Yes and no. From my perspective she died centuries ago - which is why the prospect of seeing _you_ made me bail. But you’re right - I could go back in time and talk to her, but it wouldn’t help… The reason I’m asking _you_ , is that you see me with different eyes to her. You know exactly what I am, and what I can do. _My_ Allison… didn’t. Not for a long time.”

“What do you mean?” she asked, and he folded his hands.

“My Allison and I met at university. I had grown up on Earth, pretending to be human, and I was still pretending then, and doing a pretty good job of it by then - those that noticed I was odd, generally just presumed I was autistic. Long story. I… didn’t plan on a relationship, but she was so bright, so captivating, that I found myself falling for her without realising what was happening.”

He sighed, took a drink, and then continued, speaking more to the table, than to her.

“I was a child, basically. I didn’t- didn’t understand what I was doing – although I thought I did of course, arrogant idiot that I was. But I wanted a _normal_ relationship, if that makes sense. If she knew the truth, she’d treat me differently.”

Abruptly he looked up, eyes sharp and unavoidable.

“Are you afraid of me?”

“I – I don’t know,” she replied, thrown. "Should I be?"

“Sorry, that wasn’t a fair question. But my Allison… I’m sure she more than suspected that there was more to me than met the eye, but she – she didn’t know what a Time Lord was. What I could do. When I finally showed her, after three years… It didn’t go well.”

She’d been listening in silence, carefully processing what he was telling her, but this made her speak up:

“You lied to her for _three years_?”

“Yes. Yes I did. And we both paid the price. Trust me, I learned my lesson, and learned it well. But - this is where you come in!”

“Me?”

“Yes, you.” His eyes almost seemed to glow. “I’m not offering – but _if I was_ … Would you come with me? I don’t mean ridiculous adventuring like Rose did with the Doctor. But you’ve seen what I can do. I have power, and I’m going to use that to make the universe a fairer place. Well, _my_ universe, not this one. Would you have me? Would you be interested in a relationship with me?”

She’d listened in increasing disbelief.

“ _Excuse_ me? Are you for real?”

He seemed a little puzzled.

“Of course.”

“But what kind of question is that?”

“What do you mean?”

“How am I supposed to reply to something that… hypothetical?”

He smiled an easy smile.

“Well, if you take it as a given that you could love me, is helping me rule the universe – well, not all of it course, just the parts that really need it – something you could envisage doing?”

She’d read about people’s jaws dropping, in books. She didn’t know this was a thing that could actually happen.

“Oh. My god. You are _actually_ insane!”

He looked hurt, grasping his cup more forcefully as if having to control some sort of strong emotion.

“ _No_ , I’m not. And trust me, I know what insanity is, my father is a textbook example. I can be a calculating manipulative bastard, but I’m not _mad_. Please. If I was mad, I’d be far less capable - insanity is a serious handicap.”

"Well, that's reassuring," she said, cuttingly. 

They sat for a moment in silence, then he spoke again.

"I _did_ say I was useless at this. I don't have a lot of friends - my human friends, the ones I grew up with, died centuries ago. My other friends - both of them - know me so well that I generally don't need to explain myself. I know what you’re probably thinking, that I’m some sort of Evil Overlord wannabe, wanting to rule the world and power hungry… Which is as far from the truth as possible. I have been running from that my whole life, turning myself into something of a hermit, because I could never see how it could be done _without_ becoming that cliché. Let me see, how to explain it…”

He tapped his fingers, then leaned forward, studying her.

“You are friends with Rose, yes? And through her, I'm sure you have heard plenty of stories about the Doctor. How he turns up wherever he's needed, saves the day - and then runs away again. Great if you need a hero to topple an evil regime, but what about the aftermath? Who is going to take over? Can you restructure a whole society? _Should_ you? What about religion - more times than not, the bad guys have aligned themselves with some faith system or other, and you can't just _remove_ that without considerable damage - if necessary you need a substitute, but _what_?... I was always frustrated with the Doctor's lack of follow-through, but never knew how to tackle it myself without being an unwelcome usurper. But now, _finally_ – after more than three hundred years – I’ve found a way that works for me. Which is why I went travelling; I don’t want to rush into anything, I want to plan properly. Where to start, how to continue, how to use my power and my influence most effectively… How to create long term solutions that will _work_. Whilst not doing anything that'll change history adversely of course. Let’s say it’s a challenge of a lifetime!"

He was getting excited, his enthusiasm almost infectious. And she realised she had misjudged him - if he was mad, it was a madness that was rigorously controlled and disciplined. It wasn’t about him, but about what he could _do_. Goodness knew how his plans would turn out, but at least his intentions were ‘good’, for lack of a better word.

Still...

"I'm sorry I called you mad," she said slowly. "Although I think you're more scary now than you were before."

The smile he smiled was strangely bitter.

"And there you are. My Allison. I remember that look still..."

"Not getting any _less_ disturbing, you know."

Suddenly he laughed.

"Do you want to know why I love you? Because you have no qualms about telling me the truth, however unwelcome."

Well, whatever she had expected, this was weirder still.

"Um, thanks?"

"No, thank _you_. You have been very helpful. I always wondered - could it have worked? The answer is clearly no.”

Alien. He was _alien_. She’d spent enough time with the Doctor to know that Time Lords were utterly tone deaf when it came to normal human interactions.

"Why would you _ever_ think that I would want to- You know what, never mind."

Smiling firmly, she held up her cup in a mock toast.

"To your future empire." 

He solemnly held up his own cup in response.

"To my future empire."

After taking a drink, he watched her candidly over the rim of the cup.

“I’m a little surprised, I’d have thought you would try to talk me out of it…”

She was caught somewhere between hysterical laughter and some other emotion she had no words for, and tried her best not to make a spectacle of herself, instead speaking as calmly as she could:

“Would it make a difference if I tried?”

“Not really, no.”

She closed her eyes, tried to center herself.

“That’s what I thought. I’ve listened to enough rants from Rose to know how headstrong the Doctor is - you seem to be quite similar in that regard. Besides, you clearly think you’re doing the right thing.” 

A beat, then she shook her head.

“And I thought I was having a weird day when those lizards invaded… They told me Torchwood would be an experience, but this takes the biscuit. ‘So, Allison, how was your day?’ ‘Well, I had a sort-of-date with a three hundred year old alien from a parallel universe who loves me, and is honestly not a megalomaniac, despite all evidence to the contrary…’ Was _your_ Allison this disoriented by you too?”

He had that strangely melancholy look in his eyes again as he replied, reaching out and taking her hand.

“Oh yes. Far moreso, to be honest.”

“Well, that’s a relief.”

Then he held her hand to his lips, kissing it gently.

“Have a wonderful life, Allie. You were more than worth breaking my hearts for.”

And with that he walked out of her life forever. 

She would sometimes wonder how the other Allison’s life had played out, but eventually decided that she was happiest not knowing. That sort of knowledge was a double edged sword and no mistake. Although not long after she met a lovely bloke with a neat beard, and told herself very firmly that it was pure co-incidence.


	10. Pete's World 10

He was sitting in their living room, perfectly calm as the Doctor ranted. ‘Calm’ might not be the right word - ‘quietly amused’ came closer.

Rose wasn’t sure what to think. ‘Three people in this room have committed genocide’ still stung her. He made her feel uneasy, but not for the same reasons the Doctor was throwing a fit.

The Seeker had listened patiently, but when the Doctor finally ran out of breath he turned his head to catch Rose’s eyes.

“Rose... how do you cope? I know _my_ Doctor’s wife only has him on a strictly part-time basis. You must be some sort of saint.”

“Excuse me?” the Doctor said, as Rose fought to find a suitable expression, and the Seeker tilted his head. He was so _sleek_ \- cool, calm, controlled - that it made the Doctor’s rather uncontrolled passion seem even more over-the-top.

“You are… so _young_ ,” the Seeker said. “I feel a little like I’m twelve again, the way you carry on. If I want to save the world, whilst doing a quite frankly _spectacular_ impression of my father, I don’t see why you have to take it as a personal insult.”

The Doctor’s eyes narrowed.

“Because you did it for me. Don’t you deny it.”

A half-suppressed smile. “True, I played to the crowd. But look at me! I look pretty amazing, don’t you think? I always thought this face would look good with a beard, just never wanted to give my father the satisfaction. But he’s not here now, is he?”

A beat, as the Doctor glared, silently, then the Seeker lowered his eyes, sighing in something like defeat, or tiredness.

“Actually, you have a point. I have been… deliberately antagonising you I suppose. Here, I can pretend that there’s nothing worse on my conscience than being a brat, that I’ve not alienated everyone I care about. That the resemblance to my father is nothing more than skin-deep. I left to make sure I was on the right path, that pursuing my goals - despite everything - wasn’t a mistake, and to find the best way to make those goals become reality. I spent three hundred years running away from my ‘destiny’, and trying to get to grips with it now is… overwhelming, to say the least. Although I’ve gained some unexpected insights, for which I am very grateful. But overall this has been… nice. _Fun_ , I guess, if I had to define _our_ interactions in particular. I’m sorry if I upset you.”

“Fun? _Fun_? This was _fun_?”

The Doctor’s jaw dropped, outraged, but the Seeker studied him, still eerily calm.

“Yes, _fun_. And now I’ll get into my little capsule and fly away. Have a good life. Have the life you always wanted, but that I… cannot. And never could, I learned that much on this trip. And never really did, I don’t think, despite everything.”

He stood, held out his hand, but the Doctor merely stood there, staring, looking as if the Seeker had physically punched him.

They stood like that for a long moment, then the Seeker gently shook his head.

“Oh god,” he whispered. “You never had a clue did you? Like, ever. Sometimes it’s the most obvious things that take the longest to work out…”

Abruptly he pulled the Doctor into a fierce hug, as Rose stared, uncomprehending.

“Have some kids. You make a great father, despite what you might think, looking at me. Too much of my father in me, I know. And in case you’re wondering – oh who am I kidding, it’s what you’ve been worrying about since you first set eyes on me – yes, I am going to take over the universe, absolutely. Not because I _want_ to – but because the universe is an unjust mess, and I can make a difference. Please, believe me?”

He pulled back, and for the longest time the Doctor just studied him, before replying.

“I _want_ to believe you…”

“That’s good enough for me,” the Seeker cut him off. “If you have any questions – ask Doctor Whitwell…”

~~~

When he’d left, the tree-TARDIS disappearing soundlessly, Rose took the Doctor’s hand.

“Are you OK?” she asked, concerned. She couldn’t work out what was going on behind his eyes.

Eventually he nodded, and turned to her.

“Yes. Yes I am. Rose, I… I look at him, and I remember who I was. What I was. The things I could never have – the words, and feelings, I denied myself. The life I thought I could never have. Yet, here we are. And I wouldn’t want to swap, not for all the stars in the sky.”

End (this part)

Will be continued in 'A Jack in the Box' 


	11. A Jack in the Box 1

_“One’s destination is never a place, but a new way of seeing things.”  
Henry Miller_

 

Dilemmas. He didn’t particularly like dilemmas, although at least this one was pleasant.

The bar was seedy, and the fish-creature who was chatting him up was quite frankly gorgeous, hir scales shimmering rainbow colours, but he had - for about ten minutes now - been aware of the newcomer.

He was sitting three tables down, nursing what might be a whiskey of some sort, and his gorgeously sharp suit ought to have made him stand out like a sore thumb, except no-one seemed to take much notice of him. He was handsome, with black hair and a neat beard and striking green eyes, and really, quite the dish if he hadn’t given out that vibe of… something strange.

What to do?

He could be Time Agency… Or something else. 

With a word of apology to the fish - as well as a promise of future shenanigans - he drifted down to the table, took a seat opposite the suit and smiled.

The suit smiled back: “Are you Jack yet?” 

“For _you_ , I will be,” he replied, feeling elation surging through him. Someone from his future then. He hoped they were lovers. For a long time. The suit was too delicious by half.

“And go on… If I’m Jack, who might you be?”

( _Jack_. He liked it. Nice name. Nimble, bit cheeky. Yes, he’d be Jack.)

The stranger tilted his head, watching him with those odd, guarded eyes.

“I’m your best friend from another world.”

“Are you now?” he replied, smile widening. Jack was in luck, and he was Jack, and everything was turning out great!

The stranger looked at him with a look Jack couldn’t work out, but then he glanced round the room.

“Maybe we should find somewhere more private?”

Jack nodded.

“You’re talking my kind of language… This way.”

Leading his new friend out the back, they found themselves in a shielded alley. The walls were whitewashed and the reflected sunlight of taller buildings cast bright shadows, making the world dark and light all at once.

“Which way?” the stranger asked, looking up and down, but Jack shook his head.

“I think right here might be good, don’t you?”

And with that he stepped up to the other, gently reaching out and holding his face, before leaning in and kissing him deeply and hungrily.

It took several seconds before he processed the fact that the other wasn’t reciprocating.

Letting go, he studied the stunned face in front of him with a puzzled frown. The stranger was staring at him with clear confusion.

“Excuse me, but is ‘I’m your best friend from another world’ some sort of secret code for ‘Please take me out the back and… shove your tongue down my throat?’”

Jack hesitated.

“Well… It’s a bit obscure, but... yes?”

The stranger slowly nodded, still looking spooked.

“Right. OK. Should have guessed, sorry, my bad. But... well, that’s not what I meant. I really _am_ your best friend from another world. _Literally._ ”

“Oh,” Jack said, put out. “I just figured… The way you looked at me…”

“ _Platonic_ friends,” the other said, with emphasis. “If you understand what that means.”

Well, this was… unexpected. What the hell did he do now?

“Um... Sorry? I didn’t mean to…”

His voice trailed off. He had very much meant to. He very much still wanted to. There was nothing like a man in a suit - except a man out of a suit. He’d already followed several different scenarios to their very pleasurable conclusion in his mind. Mostly he felt a little like a small boy who’d been given a lollipop by accident, and now watched it being taken away after a single lick.

And those green eyes were now just _looking_ again, with that strange look he couldn’t gauge at all. Then a small smile appeared.

“I didn’t say stop…”

After which - miracles of miracles! Jack was a _lucky_ name! - the stranger stepped forwards and kissed _him_.

It was a brilliant kiss, the sort of kiss that would definitely lead to all sorts of other things, and there were hands pulling him closer and he could wish for nothing more - except then there was suddenly the cold steel of a laser gun at his temple.

Freezing, then turning his head, he saw the fish smile at him coldly:

“You fool. Did you ever think you could run from _us_?”


	12. A Jack in the Box 2

The fish was not alone. Ze was flanked by two other Time Agents, also fully armed and with their guns aimed at his and his new friend’s heads.

“Hands where I can see them and backs against the wall,” the fish snapped, and Jack sighed. This well and truly ruined a promising day. “And don’t even _think_ about using your teleport.”

As he took a step back, he shot his handsome crush an apologetic look. He was about to say something, but the look on the other’s face gave him pause. He looked neither frightened or worried, no; he seemed… _amused._

“You never change,” the stranger then said, studying Jack fondly. “It’s very reassuring.”

“Silence! We have no quarrel with you, but if you are an… _associate_ of this man, we will need to question you. Who are you?”

The amusement changed to a cold smile as the stranger lifted his chin, somehow looking down on their captors even though they towered over them.

“Since you ask so nicely. I am the Seeker, and _these_ … are my friends.”

He turned his palms upwards, and out of the thin air four metal spheres appeared. For a second Jack thought they were maybe some kind of cameras, until sharp knives abruptly emerged and within moments were at the Time Agents’ throats.

Jack stared, stunned, as ‘the Seeker’ then reached into his pocket and brought out an oblong, brushed metal tool. 

‘The Seeker’ - odd name, to go with an odd guy. But he seemed to be very enterprising, so Jack wasn’t about to complain.

“Right, we’ll be off then – don’t try to fight, my friends are very trigger-happy…”

And - pressing a button on the tool - the interior of a spaceship grew up around them.

Jack considered himself pretty fly in the ways of escaping a sticky situation, but this one was new! Cute _and_ smart, was there no end to his new friend’s talents?

In a flash, the Seeker was at the controls and they took off to… wherever. Jack was too busy studying the beautiful control room to care. The central console was hexagonal, with a central golden column and enough ingenious controls to make anyone weak at the knees in appreciation. 

Around the edges were what looked like cupboards as well as seating, the colour scheme mostly white with red accents in the furnishings. Unusual, but definitely welcome. 

“Nice outfit,” he grinned, as the spheres popped up again.

“Jack!” they chirped, in strange and somewhat unsettling voices, and the Seeker held up a hand to get their attention.

“Listen my little murderballs! This is a _different_ Jack to the one you know, just like the Doctor that we met was different, OK? So please say a nice hello.”

“Hello Jack,” they sing-songed, and the Seeker nodded, pleased.

“Right Jack - this is Harvey, Princess, Bonnie and Clyde.

Jack waved at them vaguely, making a mental note to ask if they were robots or something else, but not really caring. Right now, his interest was elsewhere.

“Look, I believe we were having a moment…” he said, insinuating himself into the Seeker’s personal space. “And if we’re out of harm’s way, I’d say this would be the perfect opportunity to get better acquainted.”

And there is was again - that soft, fond smile, that pinged something that Jack couldn’t place. Something at the tip of his tongue; familiar, yet unexpected. The Seeker looked younger than Jack, but if Jack was a judge of people - and he was pretty good at that, even if he said so himself - the Seeker was a great deal older than he looked...

“You are incorrigible,” the Seeker chuckled, “I thought you’d at least ask about my ship before trying to seduce me…”

“Well, you tell me _all_ about the gorgeous levers and handles, and how powerful your engine is and all the clever little tricks it can perform, and I’ll focus on trying to make you fly. Deal?”

There would be pillow talk afterwards. But the abrupt burst of adrenaline that the sudden peril had brought with it was still tingling under his skin, and he could think of no better way of spending it than by getting his handsome new friend out of his clothes.

Sadly his new friend didn’t fall into his arms the way he was hoping.

“Look, I have known you my whole life. This isn’t going to be simple…”

Curiouser and curiouser. But Jack was now determined to hang around. The Seeker was a mystery to unravel in every way.

“Here, let me show you the outside,” the Seeker smiled, pressing a button to open the door. Puzzled, but presuming the other wouldn’t go to all this trouble just to ditch him now, he stepped outside… And realised that his catch was something very different to what he had ever imagined.


	13. A Jack in the Box 3

The spaceship was a _tree_. Which was impossible, so it had to be a trick, but Jack couldn’t figure out how. They had landed in a forest, and the spaceship he had stepped out of stood amongst the other trees… a bit bulkier than the rest, but not by much. The Seeker was leaning in the open doorway, through which Jack could see the control room which stretched much further back than the tree he was looking at. Slowly he made his way around it, but there were no holographics involved, and he returned to the front, studying the Seeker, who was smiling smugly, eyes dancing:

“For your information... As you have probably gathered, I am not human, and this is very very advanced technology. Your lipstick, retcon and any other little tricks you may have up your sleeve won’t work on me; besides which I’m practically immortal, highly telepathic and the controls are isomorphic. In case you ever feel tempted to… get a little creative. Are we clear?”

Jack crossed his arms, eyes narrowing, mind following several different avenues at the same time. It had to be dimensionally transcendental, but _how_? 

“I thought you said I was your best friend…”

“You on another world, yes. Whereas _this_ you is currently a conman, and a very charming and successful one at that. Now I don’t have a problem with that. I just want to make sure we are on the same page: I would love for you to stay, but don’t think you have a hope in hell of conning _me_.”

“I hope your bedside manner is more forthcoming,” Jack shot back, cheeks dimpling. (He was enjoying this. No pussyfooting around…)

The Seeker held his eyes, and hell, if this wasn’t flirtation taken to a whole other level.

“If you have any complaints when we get that far, I should probably point out that you were my teacher in the arts of Eros. So you’ll only have yourself to blame.”

At which point Jack couldn’t stop himself from beginning to chuckle, and as he was by now desperately needing some answers he had to ask:

“Who - or _what_ \- are you?”

“I’m a Time Lord, and everything you have heard about us is probably true. Except for the fact that we are all dead.”

Jack did his best not to let his jaw drop, then softly whispered “Bugger me,” subconsciously channelling a former partner.

The Seeker raised an eyebrow.

“All in good time…”

Jack tried to think back to that morning. Had it seemed particularly auspicious? Had there been any signs that today would be the day he finally hit the jackpot?

Not that it mattered. He smiled his best million watt smile and thanked his lucky stars for looking out for him.

~

Going by first impressions, Jack had half expected the Seeker to play hard to get. And there had certainly been a wariness and hesitation to their physical interactions - a few kisses, but the Seeker had always broken it off just as things began to get interesting. 

Resigning himself to waiting it out (and it’d be worth waiting for, of that he was sure), he was surprised to look up one day after a swim in the TARDIS swimming pool, towel in his hand, to find the Seeker leaning against the door frame, studying him.

The Seeker was usually fairly buttoned up, but here he was in shirtsleeves, collar and top button undone, and with bare feet below the nicely tailored black trousers…

The myriad questions in Jack’s mind must have shown on his face, as the Seeker half-smiled.

“I decided, fuck it - it’s gonna happen sooner or later, there’s no need to drag it out. I just need to get over myself. So, what do you say?”

He should have said something cutting about his other self having done a terrible job teaching the Seeker how to seduce someone with subtlety or finesse. Or quipped something like ‘Don’t mind if I do’.

As it was, he quite simply let the towel drop to the floor and pinned his Time Lord to the wall. 

~

Afterwards, the Seeker had studied him with that look Jack still couldn’t gauge, laying a hand on Jack’s chest, then closing his eyes.

“It’s so strange. It’s you, but it isn’t.”

Jack had lazily brushed a lock of black hair out of the way, pondering the peculiar twists of fate. He could never quite escape the feeling that there was something the other wasn’t telling him, and physical intimacy hadn’t changed that.

Not that the Seeker was altogether secretive. He answered most of Jack’s questions quite happily, but there was still something nagging at the back of Jack’s mind. It might just be the fact that the Seeker knew him so well, anticipating his responses and behaviour in a way that was downright spooky at times. 

Or maybe it was the fact that his new friend was a Time Lord. Jack knew only of the Time Lords as ancient legends, and this wry and somewhat calculating youthful looking man was not at all what his history lessons had conjured up.

Letting his thumb follow the Seeker’s cheekbone, simultaneously appraising and wondering at the naked, living legend in his arms, he attempted humour in the face of the weirdness he couldn’t categorise.

“Well, they did always say that Time Lords were cryptic and up themselves…”

The Seeker opened his eyes again, bright green meeting Jack’s blue, mesmerising. Love was no part of this, but intrigue and fascination worked equally well for keeping Jack enthralled.

“Pompous, Jack. The word you are looking for is pompous. And you’re absolutely right.”

Jack’s eyes narrowed.

“Secretive is probably more like it…”

“That too,” he agreed, letting his head fall down to rest on Jack’s chest. “Sorry. But I never played well with others. I will tell you my secrets in good time, I promise. But right now - can this be enough?”

The kiss that followed the question sealed it quite easily. Especially since Jack had a few chapters of his own past that he was quite happy to leave behind untold. And quite frankly, travelling round the universe with a living legend (and lover) was not something Jack was going to spurn…

~

There were adventures and fighting and a small heist or two and saving a few planets from evil regimes, and it was evident that the ‘best friend’ tag was no idle boast. They worked together as perfectly as Jack had ever worked with any of his Time Agent partners, the Seeker instinctively knowing Jack’s ingrained training and habits… Besides being a hell of a good fighter himself, the laser screwdriver immensely useful and very deadly when necessary.

“You trained me,” was the Seeker’s enigmatic response when Jack complimented him.

They were sitting on the roof of a palace, celebrating with cigars and copious amounts of alcohol after a successful coup to overthrow a tyrant.

The evening dusk was wrapping itself around them, the sky had gone a dark lavender, and they could hear the people rejoicing throughout the town. 

“Mind you, my father was pretty handy too…” the Seeker then added, taking a long slow drag of his cigar, as Jack abruptly found himself focussing on the conversation with far more interest than before.

“Your father?” he asked, the subject of the Seeker’s parents never having come up before, and he had to admit to being curious.

“Hm?” the Seeker replied, half turning. 

“Your father? Taught you to fight?” Jack prompted, and the Seeker smiled that strange smile that Jack could only ever think of as too ironic for his own good.

“After a fashion. If you could call ‘genocide’ fighting… He just wants to bond with me, really, it’s just unfortunate that he’s an evil, psychotic megalomaniac who loves murder and mayhem.”

Jack wasn’t sure whether this was jest or not, so merely mumbled: “Sounds charming.”

“Oh he is. Right up until the moment he snaps your neck. People tend to be a little less fond of him after that…”

The Seeker refilled his wine glass, as Jack mulled this over. If true, no wonder the other didn’t feel like sharing… Even so, he didn’t want to miss his chance for further information, now his friend was finally letting his barriers down. (Possibly due to the drink, although Jack liked to think that he’d managed to win the other’s trust.)

“And your mother? Presuming you have a mother…”

How exactly Time Lords procreated was not entirely clear. He was sure his teaching back in the day had said they’d moved beyond simple physical reproduction, but what it had been replaced with was a mystery.

The question led to a prolonged silence. It had gone so dark that Jack could hardly make out the Seeker’s features, and he worried if maybe he’d overstepped some kind of line.

“My mother was human,” the Seeker eventually said, voice softer than Jack had ever heard. “And in case you’re wondering why my father married her, she possessed the quality he values over any other: Loyalty. Not that it was voluntary…”

The Seeker didn't continue, instead emptying his glass, before adding: 

“In short, there are a lot of reasons I don’t talk about myself much.”

Jack didn’t know what to say. The Seeker was usually as opaque emotionally as he was himself; calm, competent and brilliant, with a side-line in wry humour that Jack deeply appreciated. 

A monstrous father and a human (and abused) mother he had never guessed at. And now that he had this information, he wasn’t sure what to do with it.

In lieu of anything to say, he reached out and took the Seeker’s hand, trying to communicate without words.

It seemed to work, as the Seeker then shuffled across and leaned against him, with a little sigh that cut Jack to the quick.

“You smell the same…” the Seeker mumbled, and Jack felt like he had won some sort of victory. It was no longer his differences that were noteworthy, but the ways he was similar to the ‘original Jack’. And he had finally been allowed inside the defences, learning something of what lay behind that enigmatic façade.

With hindsight, he should have known it was all too good to be true. The perfect friend/lover/partner, who accepted him without question and never asked for anything… 

~

One day, having checked into a ten star hotel for some exquisite pampering (Jack had quietly pocketed the credit card with limitless funds, and if the Seeker noticed, he didn’t say anything), Jack brought up the matter of the Seeker’s current travels - why was he there? (Jack didn’t ask ‘Why me?’ because the answer to that question was abundantly obvious. Nor did he ask ‘Are you running away from something?’ because he was beginning to have some ideas as to the Seeker’s reluctance to talk about himself in any detail. Dark pasts had an unfortunate habit of being difficult to get rid of.) 

The Seeker mulled over the answer for a moment, eyes lost and not seeming to notice the masseuse who was using all six hands on his back simultaneously.

“I guess it’s… a holiday? I mean, I _did_ just win a war, so I wanted a break. Get my head together before the next step.”

“The next step?” Jack asked, puzzled.

“Oh, I’m going to rule the universe.” 

The Seeker’s voice was as calm and matter-of-fact as when he’d asked Jack what he wanted for breakfast that morning.

Jack merely stared, by now being very familiar with the Seeker’s deadpan sense of humour, and waiting for the familiar little quirk in the corner of his lover’s mouth. Except it didn’t come.

The moment stretched, then the Seeker had added: “Well, obviously not _all_ of it. Just the bits that need fixing…”

“Right,” Jack said, before being brought back to the present by his own masseuse beginning to do something both painful and wonderful, but even so his mind was whirling.

They’d ‘fixed’ quite a few things together, but only ever as helping hands to local dissenters, and if the Seeker had seemed overly interested in the ruling structures after the downfall of the despots, Jack had chalked that up to general anthropological curiosity.

“Don’t worry, _my_ universe, not yours,” the Seeker then added, smiling, as he studied Jack with those guarded, doting eyes. So enigmatic and unique and delightful to unravel and ravish that Jack dismissed the warning bells. 

(Time Lord humour; that’s all it was, he told himself.)

But then came the day when he stumbled upon a klaxon...

~

It was a fairly ordinary day. Jack had decided to go exploring, and this time found a completely new corridor. Although the Seeker had vaguely said something about the TARDIS being endless… Maybe it _was_ new.

He almost didn’t see the opening, and he had the strangest feeling that the TARDIS didn’t want him to go down that way - which of course made him even more curious.

The corridor was nondescript and bare and he had almost decided to turn back when he came upon a door bearing a large sign.

**DO NOT ENTER  
DANGER OF DEATH**

Jack looked at it speculatively. He remembered the Seeker talking about Time Lord engineering, how the engine was an exploding star in the act of becoming a black hole - ripped from its orbit and suspended in a permanent state of decay. He’d said something about how it was also too dangerous to show Jack, as more than a few seconds’ exposure could kill him.

Jack bit his lip.

A few seconds would surely be OK? 

The door was locked, so opening it was a bit complicated, but being _Jack_ helped overriding the lock mechanisms - the Seeker truly trusted his best friend in every way imaginable, which was one of the things he found quite reassuring, despite his occasional twinges of doubt. And Jack trusted his other self too - at the very least to choose his friends wisely.

When the door opened he stepped inside, bracing himself for the deadly heat of a star. 

What he found was infinitely worse.


	14. A Jack in the Box 4

The room was coldly metallic and the dimensions were… _wrong_ ; the ceiling sloping upwards, the light faintly blue and harsh - a marked difference from the golden ambience through the TARDIS - the very air somehow unpleasant.

But that was background, secondary impressions that merely backed up the horror at the sight in front of him.

The Seeker turned, the surprise on his face evident, before being overlaid with concern and anger:

“Jack - what the hell are you doing here, can’t you read?” he cried, as - slowly, deliberately - Jack drew his gun; everything he had thoughtlessly accepted without question coming back to taunt him…

Every unsettling myth, every rumour, every chilling story from the Time War that he had dismissed – they all crowded in his mind, irrefutable and painfully relevant.

But dammit, he wouldn’t go down without a fight.

“Oh Jack, don’t-” the Seeker sighed, as Jack took careful aim, not taking his eyes off the unspeakable terror that had shaken him to his core. He couldn’t kill it, he knew that, but one good shot might disable it...

_(It should be dead, they were all dead, it was killed or be killed, they had no mercy, they exterminated everything in their path… Damn straight he was threatening it, if he had a better gun it would be dead already like it ought to be.)_

“No really, _don’t_. Either of you.”

It was a clear warning, as the Seeker bodily stepped in front of the abomination whilst retrieving the laser from his pocket. He kept the weapon lowered, but Jack knew how fast he was, how deadly the beam.

“Why…” Jack’s voice was tight with fear and anger, “... do you have a _Dalek_ in your ship?”

The Seeker hesitated, studying Jack with those guarded eyes.

“It helped me win a war against its own,” he answered - calmly, but cautiously, “and it was the key to travelling between dimensions. It’s… sort of my pet?”

“Your _pet_?”

He’d thought that maybe it was a prisoner. Because the Seeker was curious and arrogant enough to do something like that; constantly wanting to know more and studying everything they came across. And Jack could just about understand - if not condone - keeping something that evil alive if it were for a greater purpose.

But _this_ …

Jack swallowed, trying to temper the bitterness that was now overwhelming him, as he renewed the grip on his gun and changed the direction ever so slightly, so now he was aiming straight at the Seeker’s chest, rather than the Dalek’s eyestalk.

It seemed to take a few moments for the Seeker to realise that Jack was serious.

“Et tu, Jack?” he asked softly and there seemed to be a genuine chink in the armour, his eyes betraying the hurt. Not that Jack cared.

“That is _not_ my name!” he cut the Seeker off. “And I am not _him_ , your bestest friend in another world. I don’t know what the hell you wanted with me, because this is _sick_!”

At this, the Dalek spoke. It sounded… odd, its voice strangely lilting and somehow even more unsettling than those he remembered. And what it said didn’t do much to improve matters either.

“Peace turns to war when the mortal man sees the truth,” it said, causing the Seeker to half-turn, a mocking eyebrow now raised.

“Prophecies after the fact are not actually called for, Caan,” he remarked, laying his free hand on the dome and almost smiling.

_(Jack couldn’t count how often those hands had touched him, held him, grasped his own hand… The visceral disgust was such that he felt sick.)_

But, he realised, the Seeker was now half-turned _away…_

Jack’s finger tightened on the trigger. One simple movement, he could find out if his ‘friend’ was as immortal as he claimed.

Leaving Jack with a Dalek, which would mean instant death.

And - if he escaped the Dalek, the four Toclafane.

And if he could somehow escape _them_ , the TARDIS itself.

Being the type to always roll with the punches, Jack had from the start been impressed with the Seeker’s ridiculous organisational skills, the way every plan had several backup plans.

Viewed from the other side it was less appealing.

And then the moment passed…

The Seeker patted the dome, thanking the Dalek for something-or-other, before turning back to Jack, clearly once more composed.

“Put the gun away. If you were going to try anything, you would have done it already.”

Jack didn’t move.

“Just how telepathic are you?”

The Seeker shook his head.

“I am familiar enough with your thought patterns to know how you figure stuff out. And I am quite keen for you to leave the TARDIS alive, believe it or not. Since I’m presuming you don’t want to spend any more time here, I’d say you better go pack up your stuff and work out where you want to be dropped off. You still have the credit card, right? The limitless one?”

Walking past him, as Jack could only stare in surprise, the Seeker put the laser away and then opened the door:

“Best get out before Caan becomes less lucid. He’s… not exactly sane, to put it mildly. The plus-side is that he tell the future.” A sudden, penetrating look. “I realise I won’t change how you feel, but I have perfectly sound reasons for keeping him around.”

“Well, that’s good to know,” Jack retorted, telling himself that holstering his gun wasn’t a sign of defeat, and followed the Seeker out of the room.

A simple room, yet it had been the setting of a watershed unlike any he’d experienced before.

(Realising that the Time Agency had stolen two years of his memories had been most unpleasant, but he’d not been _surprised_.)

The Seeker closed the door behind them, and for a moment they just stood there, unsure. It felt anticlimactic, too quiet. Jack wanted to scream his anger, his sense of betrayal, his disgust…

He remembered last night; a tiny planet which happened to be the ideal viewing point for a spectacular celestial show. The sky so stunning it silenced them both, the heavenly beauty impossible to speak of with any human words. Trying to communicate, to somehow share the unspeakable, physical closeness had been the only answer. The only word ever spoken had been the Seeker’s softly whispered “Jack…” and for that one brief moment he had looked at Jack with the exact same look with which they had viewed the wonders above.

He hadn’t known what to say or do, as the experience had been entirely out of anything he had a reference for.

He still didn’t know.

Didn’t know how the man who had looked at him as if in love (no not love, something other, something _different_ , something there was no word for), could also claim the most evil creature in the universe as a friend.

For a second he thought the Seeker would try to explain himself, but then he seemed to think better of it.

“See you in the control room,” the Seeker said, face unreadable, before turning and walking away.

~

_The worst thing in the world was being wrong._

_And he had been wrong. Hugely, spectacularly, wrong._

_When he had visited ‘Pete’s World’ he had approached that Allison carefully, taking time out to evaluate the issues, what to say, what to do. Her rejection had been expected, and mostly welcomed, confirming his suspicions._

_But with Jack he’d jumped straight in, grasped the unexpected opportunity and not looked back. And was now paying the price._

_(Good thing Jack had never asked about the Toclafane, he reflected wryly, or the thing could have been over before it started…)_

_No, it was no good. He needed to straighten his head out, work out what had happened, how he had gone wrong._

_Although first there was more urgent business to attend to… Despite the eventual outcome, he was glad he had consulted with Caan, who had indeed been able to see more clearly than he could himself. He knew exactly what to do now, even if it’d be hella complicated. Thank goodness he’d worked out the schematics a long time ago._

~

It seemed wrong that it should end like this. A magical adventure, abruptly ended by a chance discovery…

As he packed up his few belongings (he had always been one for travelling light) Jack tried to figure out _why_ this felt so wrong, the still-lingering shock and anger apart.

He’d watched the Seeker impersonate a god once, on a planet where the ruling elite was particularly powerful and the population too cowed to dare fight back against the oppression. Jack – adept at impersonations, even if he said so himself – had been impressed at the audacity, but the Seeker had merely smiled that enigmatic smile of his.

“For them, I might as well be a god,” he’d remarked. “After all, I could destroy them all with a flick of my wrist. Although of course I much prefer saving them.”

Being dropped off with a civil goodbye, and that being that – it somehow didn’t fit. There should be more... More _something_. Jack wasn’t sure what, but this was too anticlimactic. It felt more like the parting after a less than successful one-night-stand, surely it couldn’t end like this? The juxtaposition of the ordinary and the unimaginable had effortlessly reached its peak…

The TARDIS shuddered, and he wondered what was happening.

Then his face hardened. Anticlimactic or not, he needed to get the hell out of there. 

~

He found the Seeker in the control room, blankly staring at the screen. Jack stood in the doorway, waiting, until the other finally looked up. Had he changed his mind?

Finally he spoke:

“I would like to apologise.”

The look on Jack’s face must have spoken volumes, because he immediately clarified.

“Not for the Dalek. But I’ve been trying to work out why it went wrong… I took you – I take _Jack_ – for granted. Always have. He is my one constant in an ever-changing world, and I mean that absolutely literally. I don’t know that there is a way to explain what he means to me with words, except he is as close to me, and as much a part of me, as a brother. It just – never occurred to me that you would not accept me. So I am sorry. You are not him, and I forgot.” 

If the speech had been meant to mollify, it did the opposite, the choice of words setting Jack’s teeth on edge.

If the Seeker had known him at all, he would have understood that calling himself Jack’s _brother_ was the ultimate insult.

But it was obviously all the explanation he’d ever get, and he wasn’t sure he wanted another. Endless questions were now presenting themselves, but he had a feeling he didn’t want to know the answers.

“Where do you want to go?”

It had been a question he’d been asked most days. But today was the last time…

(Dammit, he was upset. Why the hell did the Seeker have to turn out to have been… _this_?)

He named a medium sized city on a planet where he had connections from before, should he need anything.

The Seeker merely nodded, and moments later they landed. Jack glanced at the screen, saw they were in what appeared to be in an empty park at the edge of the city. Early morning if he judged the light correctly.

The doors opened, but as he nodded an uncomfortable “Goodbye” and walked towards the hazy morning light outside, the Seeker reached out.

Jack froze.

“Don’t touch me,” he said, and the Seeker stopped, hand outstretched, but no longer moving. 

“Understood. There is just one more thing…”

~

He watched the TARDIS disappear with relief, mixed with anger and confusion, the Seeker’s final words unsettling him more than he had let on. A final question, the answer to which he could not guess at.

And still that bone-deep chill, the shock of the Dalek not letting up. 

He had known there were deeper issues, should have asked instead of brushing it off, because the Seeker was _honest_ , when pressed… 

Fuck it all, why had he been so taken in by-

The dust settled, and Jack’s attention was suddenly caught by… impossibility.

Impossibility far beyond technology or legends made flesh or evil monsters.

Where the Seeker’s TARDIS had stood, there was a small boy dressed in white. A boy who had haunted his nightmares for too many years to count; the loss of whom had marked the point when his life had changed forever. 

“Gray?” he whispered, unconsciously falling back into his native tongue, a language he had not used in decades, as the boy looked at him, confused and scared.

“Where am I? Where’s my mummy and daddy? There were scary aliens and we had to run and hide, but I fell and let go of my brother’s hand…”

_(The Seeker had tilted his head, studying him with eyes that made him feel very very young._

_‘I need you to know that I love you.’_

_‘The hell you do,’ he’d sneered, wondering what kind of last minute sick ploy this was. But the Seeker had merely smiled. The same smile he had smiled at the worshipping crowd._

_‘Didn’t you ever wonder why I looked you up in the first place?’)_

Gently reaching out to his brother, he fought against tears. He wasn’t used to love, had lived on the edge for so long that deep emotions were buried further down than he wanted - or dared - to look. Had forgotten that love was not just a feeling, or pain, or empty words. It could be actions. Or gifts. Or a second chance. Sent by heaven or hell, he no longer cared.

“Don’t worry, it’s going to be OK. Come with me, I’ll help you.”

Gray took his hand, trusting and clearly trying to be brave, and looked up at Jack with wide eyes.

“What’s your name, mister?”

The hesitation lasted but a heartbeat, then Jack smiled.

“You can call me Jack.”

End (this part)

After a short interlude, will be continued in 'A Long Way From Sherwood' 


	15. A Long Way from Sherwood. Prologue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Summary for this story: _How do you save people that don't want to be saved?_
> 
> Also many thanks to redjaded (timeheist) for the loan of Roda, the collaborative writing, and the beautiful banner. <3

The Seeker would be lying if he didn’t admit that he regretted how his ‘adventure’ with Jack had turned out.

Of course part of the reason for travelling - and looking up those he knew - was to find new perspectives, to challenge his presumptions. But he’d not expected it to be so brutal.

There had been the moment when Jack had aimed his gun at him, and there was no doubt in the Seeker’s mind that Jack had wished he could’ve fired it without repercussions… 

Studying the whisky bottle in his hand (so very nearly empty), he reflected that maybe it was just. After all he’d been willing to let Roda kill his father at the battle in the Medusa Cascade - a taste of his own medicine was probably good for him.

But there had been no sugar to help it go down.

Emptying the bottle he tossed it away, and reached out for another. The motion made the cushion at his back slip down, and he had to readjust his position again. 

“You OK there Caan?” he asked, “your bumps were not designed with comfort in mind.”

“Daleks do not have a concept of com-fort,” Caan replied, and the Seeker chuckled as he leaned back against the Dalek once more and glanced around the room. He’d recreated a tiny bit of Skaro as best he could (getting anything coherent out of Caan’s mind was a fool’s errand, but images were easier to navigate), and Caan certainly seemed happy enough. And his TARDIS hadn’t complained about creating it, so it couldn’t be too bad, right? And Dalek design was not unattractive. The cool pale blue of the slanting metal walls was a nice counterpoint to the rest of the TARDIS, the only drawback being how low the ceiling had turned out to be.

That said, he supposed he couldn’t blame Jack for freaking out… Nobody had taken to his interest in Caan. 

Even so, he was sure his father had worked with Daleks several times. He stared at the new bottle glumly. Not a good thing to remember. 

Removing the lid and taking a good swig (oh god, he loved peaty whisky), he reflected that if nothing else his initial goal had been accomplished.

Thinking back, he had wanted… he had wanted to do for another Jack, what he could never do for his own.

And he had. 

But inbetween there had been a crazy detour of a - love affair? Something fun, yet at times surprisingly tender… 

_‘Don’t touch me!’_

It shouldn’t have ended like that.

But it had, and there was nothing to be done. 

(He’d miss him. Already missed his easy humour and companionship. He’d been so young, so unburdened. Would miss him more tonight when his bed would be empty…) 

He frowned at the bottle. This was no good, self-pity was useless. He needed something new. A project. Find some genuinely dismal place, help bring about a revolution, and then follow through _properly_. Indepth change, at every level. He was sure it could be done. 

Of course he was well aware that he was essentially running planet-wide tests for how to go about creating his future empire, and that this was probably morally or ethically problematic, but empires didn’t come with rule books, even if he’d read his Marcus Aurelius… So screw it. A planet would be better off, and he would have valuable knowledge.

Yes, tomorrow was a new day. He hoped Jack would make his new life work, but it was a life that could never have contained a Time Lord, he knew that.

Onwards.

~

A few days later the Seeker stepped out of his TARDIS, sharply dressed and ready to get a feel for the place. The scanners had indicated a settlement of some kind nearby that he might check out a little later, but to begin with he liked to taste the air, test the gravity and the environment, make sure there would be no unpleasant surprises later. For some reason the TARDIS had chosen the middle of a forest to land in, but she probably had her reasons, since he’d given her free reign when it came to choosing his new project. 

He’d asked Caan for its opinion, but the Dalek had only swivelled its dome slowly, before gurling “Goddess”, which was no help at all. Maybe there was an abandoned temple somewhere near? 

The forest was very pretty, the leaf cover blueish, but pale as if painted by a water colour artist, with accent colours of pale pink and the occasional misty ocre or viridescent flowers. In the distance he spotted tall grey mountains, capped with clouds, and smiled. If nothing else, this stop was going to be aesthetically pleasing.

The Toclafane hovered over his head, happily chirruping, and he sent them off on scouting missions as usual: “You know the drill my pretties - go on, and remember to stay out of sight.”

Debating with himself what to do until they returned – he should probably do more research before walking into a potentially hostile situation – he felt a strange tug of _something_. Had it been a rustle in the bushes? Or something tugging at other senses? It felt oddly familiar, which was a conundrum in itself. Brand new universe, brand new everything… 

Trying to hone in on the cause of the twinge, whatever it had been, he caught the movement too late.

There was a flash of something and a second later he found himself pinned to the side of the TARDIS, a knife to his throat and a familiar face glaring at him with pure hatred, as she spoke:

“Should have known you would be involved somehow - _Master_.”


	16. A Long Way from Sherwood 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gallifreyan will be indicated by the use of « and » rather than "". It seemed the simplest solution.

Jack’s first kiss had imprinted on the Seeker, a moment seared onto his memories forever. The rough wall against his back, the sun in his eyes, a man like the one he had known his entire life stepping into his personal space, reaching out like a lover; the entire experience reminding him of something the Doctor had once told him about a crack in the universe…

_‘Two parts of space and time that should never have touched, pressed together.’_

But he was the _Seeker_ … Once the crack was open, how could he not step through? 

It hadn’t ended well, the crack closing behind him with the finality of the gun that had been aimed at his hearts, but it had been good while it lasted.

This moment was less shocking, but far more dangerous.

He could feel the edge of the blade against his throat, and was in no doubt as to how sharp it was.

_Don’t struggle_ , that was the most important thing. He knew that look in her eyes… The Crucible, a revolver clasped in her hands and pointed at his father:

_‘Master, I promised the Seeker I wouldn't kill you, but Rassilon dammit, I **could.** ’_

In the end she hadn’t fired the gun, but it had been too close a call for any wrong move now. 

«I’m not him,» he said, without thinking falling into Gallifreyan as he was wont to do with ‘his’ Roda when they were alone – she always seemed to appreciate it, and it felt… private. 

He tried to catch this Roda’s eyes, but her response was somewhere between a sneer and a derisory laugh.

The knife still firmly in place, she reached into his inside pocket, pulling out two cigars and his laser screwdriver.

Raising a single, scornful eyebrow, she growled: «I’m not him?’ Pathetic. You could at least pretend to make up a clever lie.»

For the first time he regretted growing the beard.

It was undeniable that he was - for all intents and appearances - his father’s exact copy. Beard, suit, cigars, laser, Toclafane… Sadly, ‘I’m your best friend in another world’ wouldn’t work here.

No, it was a case of if he was lucky, he would not get his throat slit.

Turning over the laser in her free hand, the look on her face spoke volumes. He’d always known she hated his father, but he had always been a buffer… Without it, her naked anger was alarming.

«Isomorphic… Funny, I figure that if I hit it really hard with a rock, it’ll probably stop working for you too.»

«Don’t!»

The sudden panic in his voice was such that she noticed, the knife digging a fraction of a millimetre deeper as she shook her head, eyes flaring.

«You really care about this _thing_ , don’t you? Does it hold such fond memories of all the people you’ve _murdered_?»

«Roda, please. Can we just talk? You can tie me up or whatever you want, but I need you to _listen_ to me… I understand if you don’t believe me, but I’m not him.»

What had been an awkward moment when he had met the other Doctor and Rose, was now quite possibly a matter of life or death. And with a far less receptive audience.

«I’m his son. From another universe. And I have the laser because my father gave it to me a long, long time ago.»

«Well that’s slightly more original, I’ll give you that. So you’re keeping it for sentimental value, is that it?»

She really had a very aggressive line in sarcasm he realised, before her eyes narrowed.

«But go on, say that I believe you. Swear to me that you never killed anyone with it.»

The moment stretched, as he began realising in earnest what a monumental uphill struggle this would be. His outlook, his methods, the plans he had for this planet, the reason behind them… Everything, when viewed through a hostile lens, could easily be attributed to his father’s modus operandi. 

«Of course I’ve killed people with it, it’s a _weapon_ ; are you saying the knife you are holding against my throat is just for decoration?»

«Always the same – make a joke out of it. Life’s just a laugh, isn’t it?»

The situation was rapidly becoming very annoying.

«Look, either just kill me, or listen to me. I think we can probably find a truce or some way of working together? Our aims are similar I should think…»

A beat, then she lowered the knife and he took a grateful breath, even as he took in the size of the knife. It was at least 20 centimeters long, and with a blade that looked like it could cut through bone if need be. 

Unfortunately, the next thing he saw was her fist, which connected with his face much too forcefully.

When he could see through the pain, she was busy tying him up which – whilst uncomfortable – was an improvement over a knife to the throat.

Until his wrists began to sting.

«What _is_ that?»

«Vines,» she replied, with a fair bit of relish. «Mildly toxic. You might get an unpleasant rash.»

«You know, I have handcuffs,» he countered. «I’ll even tell you where-»

«Yeah, because I’ll fall for _that_ one,» she snorted. «Now, walk. I want to be far away when your little murderous puppets come back. By then, I should have gotten you a perception filter too, so I won’t get killed in my sleep by either Toclafane or the regular death squads.»

He wanted to say that the Toclafane wouldn’t do that, but thought better of it.

He’d have to pick and choose his fights, and this one was not important. However he noted that she had tucked his laser away into her bag, which was something.

As they walked he tried to find out more about her – judging by her face it was past The Year That Never Was for her, but this Roda was more suspicious and distrustful than he had imagined possible, cutting him off and refusing to talk about even Torchwood.

Changing tactics he began volunteering the Cliffs Notes of his own life – she might not believe him, but at least she’d be aware. He left out various details, like the fact that he had been her lover, and his war, as he thought it’d be best to wait until later. Neither piece of information would work to his advantage at the moment.

Despite his personal discomfort, he found himself admiring her forest walking abilities – of course he knew that she had spent time with Robin Hood and was happiest when outdoors, but he’d never really seen her in action.

Trying to compliment her fell flat however, as she merely snapped that flattery would get him nowhere.

A little later she complained that he was clearly trying to be as noisy as possible, to which he replied – voice somewhat strained – that he hadn’t dressed that morning for climbing through undergrowth, and that quite frankly the excursion was not doing wonders for his suit or his patent leather shoes. Did they have to climb around inbetween all these semi-poisonous ferns and unpleasantly slimy trees? He was sure his rash was getting worse.

«Drones,» she replied. «We need to stay hidden.»

He sighed, the wish to bang his head against a wall curbed by the pain he was already in.

«Look, would you try to explain how this world functions? That’s what I asked my Toclafane to discover, but since they might have a problem finding me…»

(Of course they were telepathically linked, but he wasn’t telling _her_ that.)

«Oh like you aren’t running the show,» she countered, and he had to grit his teeth.

«I know _nothing_ about this place. I simply asked my TARDIS to find a planet that needed help, somewhere that would challenge me, and this is what she gave me. So far I know that most of the plant life is bringing me out in hives and that apparently they have drones and death squads. And that they’re bad enough for _you_ to be involved.»

Shooting him an irritable glance, she replied it’d be great if he’d drop the act already.

«It’s not an _act_ you impossible woman! I realise my father has gone out of his way to wrong you more times than I can count, but stars above if I wanted to do the same I would think of something a _hell_ of a lot smarter than our current situation! If, as you think, I’m secretly running this place, why would I be trudging along like this rather than alert those death squads to come to my aid?»

She’d stopped stock still as his voice rose, scanning the leafy cover above them, before her eyes snapped back to his face, furious.

«Oh you are a piece of work!»

Unsure which part of his tirade she’d taken offence at, he slowly became aware of a faint buzzing noise from above them.

«I didn’t mean to-» he began, as the small metallic object descended on them, but she merely laughed derisively.

«Oh _screw you_. You knew exactly what you were doing, and congratulations, you got me. You know-»

What else she was about to say he never heard, as he felt a sharp sting on his neck after which the world went blurry and then disappeared.


	17. A Long Way from Sherwood 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a quick note saying a big thank you to those reading/leaving kudos. It means the world to me. <3

Waking up, it took the Seeker a few moments to get his bearings.

His head was groggy (whatever tranquilliser those drones carried, they had to be strong stuff to knock him out so thoroughly), and he took a moment to check that he had not been injured or hurt.

Satisfied that there were no broken bones or wounds, he sat up and began to take in his surroundings, which led to a few moments of déjà vu mixed with confusion.

He could see Roda slowly come to, but ignored her in order to focus on the room they were in. It was, unless the drugs were still affecting his brain, a spaceship. Except they were not in space.

Tapping the wall, there was no doubt about it. He recalled being abducted age 16, but the similarities were negligible, and he swiftly dismissed that memory. This room was old, and dirty. It had not seen the stars in a long, long time.

Trying to get comfortable (the vines had been swapped for metal handcuffs, for which he was grateful), he studied Roda, waiting for her to regain consciousness before he spoke.

«So, any ideas where we are, and who our captors might be?»

«Oh, like you don’t know,» she muttered, and he very nearly lost his temper.

«Look, we are locked in what is basically a dungeon. It’s dirty and disgusting, my wrists are stinging, my face is aching and my head is still pounding. Don't you think I would have revealed my master plan by now if I had one?»

She eyed him coldly.

«Unless this was all part of your master plan. Throw us both in a difficult situation so we can bond, make me trust you. It'd only make your betrayal even sweeter.»

«I am beginning to see why dad finds you so infuriating!» he snapped.

Hesitating for a second before he continuing, he then figured what the hell. 

She wasn’t _his_ Roda (as his time with Jack had so admirably proved, certain relationships could not be replicated), and right now, being cruel to be kind seemed the best option. Besides he was reaching the end of his tether:

«I realise that he’s an evil psychotic megalomaniac, but it takes two to tango and you are so bloody prejudiced that it’s bordering on the ridiculous. Now I hate to break it to you, but my father does not hate you enough to go through something like this. _I_ am by now rapidly losing my patience – and I genuinely _like_ you – my father would have throttled you hours ago!»

«You could _try_.»

«Don’t bloody tempt me…»

He took a deep breath, clamped down firmly on his irritation and then continued, voice once more under control even if the urgency still shone through.

«I don’t care if you believe me, but unless you are particularly enamoured of being locked up like this, please just tell me where the hell we are, what exactly is going on on this planet, and which species is likely to come through the door. I have no weapons and no plan and I _need_ information.»

His tirade seemed to leave her speechless, so he added: «Last time I was in a situation like this I ended up _dying_ in order to save the day, and all because of the Doctor’s bloody principles. I swore then that it’d never let that happen again, and I am not about to break that promise. So for the love of your outsized morals, just give me some facts to work with.»

There was a sizeable pause, then she spoke. Not enthusiastically, but he didn’t care. He felt more lost without facts, than without the laser or his TARDIS.

Although as he began to take the situation on board, his hearts started sinking. This was what his old colleagues at NASA would have called ‘a doozy’.

The planet itself was a straight-forward enough deal. A single dominant, sentient species, the Crinitus, bipeds with head-to-toe fur (to protect against the mostly noxious plant life) and mostly subsisting on nuts and shellfish, which they had opened with their beaks until they invented simple tools.

Approximately equivalent to Bronze Age humans, he reckoned. Basic metal works, lived in huts, cultivated food products, had domesticated a few of the animals.

The other half of the equation was where the problem lay…

During the Time War, Roda’s unit had at one point been fighting the Daleks in a human populated part of a galaxy. The Daleks had ruthlessly destroyed planets as they went along, and the humans had frantically tried to find ways of escape. The Time Lords had done their best to halt the Daleks’ progress, but only one planet managed to cobble together enough evacuation crafts in time. 

As they set off, however, the Daleks showed up, destroying most of the vessels and severely damaging the rest. At the time there had been no time to help them, but their plight had stuck with Roda and finding herself rootless and mission-less after the loss of Gallifrey she had made a point of trying to discover what had happened to the refugees.

She eventually tracked them to the planet they were currently on. The ships had been too damaged to make it to whichever destination they had originally intended, and had quite simply landed on the first planet they came across when their fuel ran out.

It had not been a success.

Roda’s voice had slowed down, and she seemed to have forgotten whom she was talking to.

«Almost everything on this planet's toxic to humans. When they first arrived, they just... died. They survived the Daleks, then they landed in a place where everything's trying to kill them… And then of course the Crinitus,” she paused, “the locals, see these strangers fall out of the sky in flames with weird beakless faces and no fur and they're terrified. They tried to make them go away, but with the weapons they had…» Roda trailed off, letting the Seeker fill in the gaps. The Crinitus clearly had no technology broaching that of space-faring humans. «But then the humans in their turn, desperate to survive, fought back. In their eyes, at least.»

Her voice trailed off again, and he waited. It was clear the story was affecting her, and he could guess where it was heading. Humans were depressingly predictable.

«They enslaved the Crinitus. Forced them to grow food that they could eat, at the expense of their own. Enforced labour, and mining, too. That's where the drones and the death squads come in; the humans see the ‘furries’ - as they call them – like work animals. Spare the whip, spoil the workforce.»

«And the spaceships?»

«They turned them into housing. Fortresses, really, to keep the freaks,” she glared at the Seeker, “and the plant life out and make themselves Kings.»

A sigh. 

«I… mistimed my landing. I wanted to help them build. But it’s been around seventy years now since they arrived, and the situation is…»

She spread her hands helplessly, and if she’d been _his_ Roda, he’d have offered whatever comfort or support he could. But she’d probably just view even the suggestion as emotional manipulation, so there was no point.

The situation she was describing wasn’t particularly shocking, but certainly complicated. Why hadn’t they called for help?

The answer was immediate. In the aftermath of the Time War, ‘We landed on the wrong planet’ would have been roundly ignored in favour of more immediate and desperate emergencies, the whole universe probably crying out.

And _now_ \- goodness knew how many rules and directives they were in violation of, but the Shadow Proclamation would not take kindly to their actions, and were not known for the lenience of their justice. Yes, they were well and truly stuck, with no hope of reprieve.

«I’ve been here for the best part a month, and it’s like Skaro. I guess - I guess I was almost relieved to see you. The Master I can deal with.» Beat. «But this…»

Ignoring the possible acknowledgement that she believed he was who he said he was, he focussed on the situation.

«A month you say – have you made any contact with the Crinitus?»

She shook her head.

«I thought about it, but…» she gestured down her body wordlessly.

«Ah, of course.»

She looked human, and the problems were multiple – it wouldn’t do to teach them that some humans could be trusted. Or risk life and limb if they decided to exact some vengeance. And Roda was unlikely to be comfortable leading an armed insurrection…

He sank into silence as he turned the situation over in his head.

Sure he had wanted something complex, but this didn’t really fall within his remit. Back home - if he realised his dreams, or enacted his plans, rather - he could sweep in with an army of Toclafane and quite simply apply the most prudent solution.

Although he supposed this was a good moment to reflect on his instinctive approach. More subtlety was not a bad lesson…

But that was all for later. What to do about the current situation?

He was so lost in thought that Roda had to kick him twice to catch his attention.

«What?»

«Well, do you have any ideas?»

«What, you’ve had a month and I get half an hour? It’s a complicated situation!»

«I meant for getting out of here.»

«Oh.» He tried to scratch his head, which reminded him of the handcuffs and the general discomfort he was currently subjected to. «I guess someone will come and talk to us at some point, we’ll take it from there. Do you know what they might be like? Should we pretend to be human?»

The idea amused him, and he couldn’t help but smiling, especially at how cumbersome Gallifreyan made the simple word ‘human’ - ‘Species originating from Sol3’ didn’t exactly roll off the tongue. But Gallifreyan was the only safe language right now, so they didn’t have much of a choice…

And Roda was looking at him with confusion.

«What exactly _have_ you been thinking about for the past half hour, if not how to get out?»

He studied her nonplussed. 

«What to do about the situation here. The optimal solution would obviously be to relocate the humans elsewhere-»

« _Relocate_ them?»

He raised a caustic eyebrow.

«If you want to play Doctor and brook some kind of peace deal where everyone learns to live in perfect harmony, be my guest, but if the situation truly is like the one you have described, I don’t believe it can be done.»

«And relocating the humans is the better alternative?»

«Absolutely.»

She looked at him for a long moment, as if trying to make his words fit, but failing.

«Right so - nevermind the logistics, what if they won’t go?»

He tapped his fingers on the floor, speculative.

«That’s the snag of course - it would have been a lot better if we could have appeared like saving angels. Too late for that though.»

His voice was only mildly scathing, but even so he saw her brow draw together, anger sparking in her eyes once more:

«Oh you would have _loved_ that, wouldn’t you? Get them all to worship you-»

«If that’s what it’d take for a peaceful resolution, then hell yes!»

«Are you for real? You keep saying you’re not - not _him_ , but I can’t see much of a difference! What’s your excuse - you care so much, you want to kill them with kindness?»

She seemed more frustrated than angry, but before he could reply, the door abruptly swung open.

A human guard, in a crudely fashioned uniform but carrying a very effective-looking weapon, motioned for them to get up.

“The Captain will see you now.”

The Seeker glared, got to his feet and then - taking the guard by surprise - reached out and laid fingertips to the guard’s temple, holding his eyes.

“Wait,” he said simply, then turned to Roda who was staring at him open mouthed.

«Are you _kidding_ me?»

«Ah. Yes I realise how that must have come across, but I thought we should probably make sure we’re on the same page before we talk to their Captain. You see, I have a plan-»

«A _plan_? Since when?»

«I’m very good at multi-tasking. Look, if I promise you that this chap here will be no worse for wear - I just paused him a bit - will you listen? I genuinely think it could work.»

Roda didn’t look convinced.

«Undo it. Then talk.»

He wanted to argue, but knew that look on her face far too well.

«As you wish,» he said - aware that she probably wouldn’t get the reference, yet appreciating it nonetheless. He felt very much like Westley at that moment.


	18. A Long Way from Sherwood 3

The Captain – and it was an interesting ethnographical detail that they had kept that title for their leader – looked to be in his fifties, and trim for his age, although his face showed signs of the hard life they were living.

He wore a uniform which, although clearly old and worn, had been looked after with great care. The Seeker wondered whether it was passed down from generation to generation.

As the Seeker had expected, the room they had been taken to was the old control room. The wide windows showed a view of unending pale blue, misty mountains in the distance - a deadly paradise that the Seeker hoped the humans would be happy to leave.

Some of the control panels were still working, and he was curious as to what they did for power. Natural resources were abundant, so in theory power shouldn’t be difficult to come by, but translating that to something usable…

On the console next to the Captain he noticed Roda’s bag, and wistfully thought of his laser – so near and yet so very far away.

However, it was important to take charge straight away, and he glared at the Captain with all the indignation of an official personnel unlawfully detained.

“Captain. I hope you will be able to explain the meaning of this. As representatives of The Shadow Proclamation my colleague and myself have never been treated in such a way-”

“The Shadow Proclamation?” the Captain asked, eyes narrowing. “I’m surprised. I thought they just sent Judoon to kill everyone they didn’t approve of. Please, tell me whom I have the pleasure of addressing.”

“I’m Rhona Dale,” Roda said, “Senior Agent and Operative.”

“And I am Alexander Saxon, Architect,” the Seeker added. “I am sure I don’t have to explain why we are deeply concerned about what has been going on here.”

A swift, dismissive smirk, gone in an instant, flashed across the Captain’s face – but the Seeker knew that for some reason the plan was already going awry. 

“Concerned, you say… Yes, I believe you are. Very concerned. I’m guessing that Ms Dale is the person our drones have been trying to track for the past few weeks, turning up at all our major sites…” 

“And I have more than enough evidence to incriminate you many times over,” Roda replied coldly. “Apart from the fact that this was a Level Two planet, your actions-“

“Oh shut up,” the Captain snapped. “It’s a clever little story you’ve strung together, but I know what is going on.”

Silently cursing that somehow the ruse hadn’t worked, the Seeker wasn’t ready to let go just yet. 

“Do you now? I hope you don’t mind sharing your insights with us…”

Leaning back in his chair the Captain studied them, no longer bothering to hide his sneer.

“I don’t know which company you are from, but you were obviously trying to make contact with the-“ he caught himself, “-the natives. One of you tied up, to help win their trust. Believing you could foment a revolution, get a better deal working directly with those _primitives_ , than what I would offer you.”

The Seeker kept his face impassive, even though his mind was abruptly trying to connect missing dots in order to work out what the Captain was talking about… ‘Company’ ‘better deal’ – what could these humans have to bargain with?

He cast a sharp glance at Roda. _Unless_ … Unless the planet had some kind of precious natural resource she hadn’t mentioned to him; something the humans traded with unscrupulous mercenaries, a reason for them to stay-

Oh. His conversation with Roda in the cell, a single sentence:

_«Right so - nevermind the logistics, what if they won’t go?»_

Dammit.

How was he supposed to do _anything_ if he was given incomplete or incorrect information? Stars above she was infuriating. He understood that she didn’t trust him, but now she had compromised them both…

(Then, at the edge of his awareness, a gentle mental tug. _Finally_. He’d felt strangely naked without backup, and it was sobering to realise how dependent he had become.) 

The Captain drew breath, and the Seeker focused on him again. The mental calculations had lasted but a fraction of a second in real time, and although the initial plan was falling through, he could probably figure something else out… But it most definitely added yet more complications, and the Captain was no longer bothering to hide his disdain:

“As if you could make any kind of deal with that lot. No understanding of the value of what they have. Or money for that matter. Wouldn’t do the most basic of work if we weren’t keeping them in check. You have been on a fool’s errand, but you will not make a fool out of me.” 

Grabbing the bag, he held it aloft.

“Besides which, this bag has far too many weapons and… _inventive_ technology to belong to anyone associated with The Shadow Proclamation. Regulation all the way, that’s how the Architects like it. Just take this knife…”

He stood up, Roda’s knife in his hands. 

“Well, it’s not regulation in any way shape or form, is it?”

“Hands off that,” Roda snapped, her hands curling into fists and the handcuffs tightening, as he turned to her, eyes turning frosty.

“My dear Ms Dale - if you think I escaped the Daleks and steered this ship through the void of space with such damage that it’s a miracle we even made it past the moon clusters of the ring planets, to land _here_ , in this hellhole, witnessing men, women and children dying – killed by the land that should have been their salvation, and attacked by savages so brutal those days still haunt my nightmares… Just to see someone like _you_ trying to destroy my people, you are very much mistaken.” 

That swift smile again, a smile that struck the Seeker like a flashing danger sign, even as he adjusted his understanding yet again – ‘Captain’ was not an honorary title, the man had to have had his body clock slowed down (not uncommon for star ship pilots; he was not someone carrying on others’ work, he was the instigator…) Then he spoke again, and the reason for the smile was revealed:

“You see _here_ , there are toxic swamps where your bodies will disintegrate so thoroughly no one will ever know you even existed…”

And before either could react, he raised the knife and stabbed Roda in the chest.


	19. A Long Way from Sherwood 4

Killed with her own weapon. There was probably something ironic or poetic to be said about that, but for a few seconds the surprise and pain blotted out everything else.  
   
She thought she heard a yell (the Seeker?) and as she fell to the floor there suddenly seemed to be far more commotion than seemed justified by a single, final captive against two guards and the Captain. Although it pleased her that he was putting up a fight.  
   
Unaccountably, the next moment the Seeker was by her side, unharmed.  
   
Although hampered by the handcuffs, he pressed a hand to the stab wound on her chest where blood had already soaked her shirt, but what struck her was the deep concern and alarm on his face:  
   
«Roda? _Roda_! Stay with me. I’m here, it’ll be fine.»  
   
She wanted to say something – but the knife had not only caught her left heart, but also her lung, and breathing was difficult. Eyes found it hard to focus, but she saw the golden glow around his hand and resigned herself to the inevitable.  
   
She’d had worse.  
   
Except… the glow didn’t spread, and after an endless moment – why didn’t he _move_ , he’d get caught by the fire – the pain began ebbing away, instead of becoming all-consuming.  
   
Head and vision clearing, her eyes widened as she realised what was happening. The Seeker’s concentration was absolute, the glow intensifying and momentarily playing across his features, before slowly subsiding and fading away.  
   
She took a breath, and another one, and he helped her sit up as she began spitting up the blood still logged in her lungs. But she could feel both hearts beating, and looked up to study him, bewildered.  
   
They were both still handcuffed, but he reached out with the hand that was not covered in blood and brushed a strand of her hair behind her ear. The action was intimate and instinctive and tender in ways she hadn’t expected him capable of; a world away from the irritable and guarded man she had seen so far.  
   
«That was close,» he whispered, smiling, with a look in his eyes that made her falter. Who was he to look at her like this?  
   
«Why – why would you _do_ that?» she eventually asked. It was one thing to claim friendship. Quite another to do something so foolhardy… Regeneration energy was- he had to have shaved _years_ off his own life to repair the damage caused by the knife. It was literally a giving of _self_ , of life-force… He might as well have cut off his own arm. And might very well lose one next time he regenerated.

She wasn’t sure how to process it. Who would do such a thing?   
   
«You’re my friend and I love you,» he replied simply. «What else could I have done?»  
   
All she heard was: _‘and I love you’_  
   
It didn’t seem possible. Love had died, burned up in the War which had taken everything – her people, her home, her beloved; and love had then been purged from even her hopes and dreams through a year of captivity and torture that still haunted her.   
   
But actions didn’t lie. What he had done – no one would do something like that except for love.  
   
As she tried to make it all fit, they were interrupted by the Captain’s voice, reluctance and horror evident:  
   
“What _are_ you?”  
   
Making sure she was OK to sit on her own, the Seeker slowly got to his feet. As Roda looked around she understood what the commotion had been, and faltered yet again. How did any of it make sense? How did _he_ make sense?  
   
The Captain was pinned in place – as were the two guards – by Toclafane, knives at their throats.  
   
The Seeker was ignoring the Captain, however, instead holding out his cuffs to the fourth Toclafane which swiftly cut through the links. After that he fetched Roda’s bag, found his laser screwdriver and used it to undo the cuffs themselves, then turned to Roda, pausing momentarily to make sure she agreed, before undoing her cuffs too, and then helping her up.  
   
«I think you’ll be more comfortable in the chair, don’t you? Obviously you need a zero room as soon as possible, but just for the time being the chair might have to do…»  
   
She nodded and accepted his help settling into the Captain’s chair. Physically she felt fine, but she was aware that the effects might be deeper and more far-reaching than the damage the Seeker had undone. Her own knife…  
   
She saw him pick it up, carefully clean it on his sleeve, and return it to her bag.   
   
Only then did he turn to face the Captain, the concern now overlaid with cold fury.  
   
“Oh Captain, my captain… _What are we?_ I don’t know what faith you adhere to, if any, but trust me: The gods are angry today.”

The laser once more in his hand, he carefully aimed it at the Captain’s chest.

“Now, give me one good reason not to kill you.”

Momentary conflict clouded Roda’s mind – the latent anger and shock very much wanted the Seeker to use the weapon…

But the Captain lifted his chin, defiant.

“You think I fear death? I fear for my _people_. For what would become of them without a strong leader, for what creatures like _you_ might do to a people that has already suffered more than you can comprehend or know-”

“How _dare_ you?”

Where the Seeker was quiet, deadly cold, Roda felt like she was on fire. The pain had given her strength to say what she'd bottled up for weeks. It took all of her strength to stay where she was, conserving her energy. They made an odd parallel; the Seeker calm and standing, in the Captain's face, and Roda sat in his chair, her knuckles white as she clasped the arms to stop from screaming. _Rassilon_ , nothing made sense any more.

"I was there, holding back the Daleks so _you_ could make your escape, and build a new life. A life without the Time War in it. And what do I find when I come to look for you?"

She shook her head, teeth momentarily bared:

“Slavery!” 

If the Captain had been expecting anything, from the way he flinched it hadn't been _that._

“You escaped the Daleks. You could have started a new life. And you built it on _cruelty_.” 

She made eye contact with the Captain as he looked at her in horror, caught somewhere between awe and fear - and revulsion? Not that she cared. 

“You're just as bad as _them_.”

He shook his head, seemingly forgetting the Toclafane blade against his neck, and flinching as it pressed against his throat, even as he looked from Roda to the Seeker:

“You- you’re-”

“Time Lords, yes,” the Seeker finished. “Bet you are wishing for The Shadow Proclamation now, am I right?”

The Captain had gone very pale, as the Seeker smiled a smile fit for the Master. If he was who he said he was, the family likeness was more than skin deep.   
   
But he had saved her… 

Even so she became suddenly vigilant. Whatever he did now would be a good indication of what kind of man he was. The god complex was certainly worrying – she could think of a hundred unhappy outcomes, and readied herself for stopping him if necessary.

(The Master had an unhealthy attachment to the Doctor. Maybe the Seeker – in his world – had a similar attachment to _her_? It was a possibility, and she couldn’t let her guard down.)

But then the Seeker took a step back, leisurely twirling the laser between his fingers even as he was studying the Captain with eyes that gave nothing away.

“You know, that is not a bad idea. Our involvement here can only ever be temporary… So The Shadow Proclamation might be just what’s needed. You’ve been too insulated here – time you faced some more universal justice.”

Tapping the Captain’s chest lightly with the tip of the laser, he slowly smiled.

“Yes, by far the best solution will be to put you on trial for your crimes. The Shadow Proclamation is more than Judoon, as you will find out.”

Abruptly turning to the guards, he motioned for the Toclafane to let them go.

“You – guards, come here.”

They were still clutching their weapons, and seemed disoriented at suddenly being given freedom. 

“Now I presume you are smart enough not to start shooting myself or the Redjay here. The question is – whose side are you on? Your world has changed, and I realise that can be confusing and scary – but trust me, your future is now infinitely brighter than it was yesterday. So where does your loyalty lie? With this man – or with your people, and your planet, and your future?”

A beat, then he added.

“If it is the latter – take the Captain and lock him up. He will have to face the crimes he committed and pay the price…”

“You wouldn’t-” the Captain spluttered, staring incredulous as the guards thought it over, then approached him, faces set. “You can’t- I have known you since you were babes-”  
   
“Times change,” the Seeker replied, his green eyes as dismissive as the Master’s had ever been as the Captain found cold metal snapping shut around his wrists.

Roda had watched in growing astonishment, curbing her impulse to jump in, confused at the contradictions playing out in front of her eyes. But if he had meant everything he said…. Of all possible outcomes, this one she had not expected.  
   
With a nod he motioned the guards to take the Captain away – leaving him alone with Roda.  
    
Waiting for the door to close, the Seeker relaxed, resting himself against the edge of the console. It struck her, for a moment, that they were alone together... and she was still weak. He could kill her _right now_ and she wasn't sure that she would be able to stop him.

But he wasn't the Master. Even if he had a Toclafane hovering by his shoulder…


	20. A Long Way from Sherwood 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel this chapter ought to have some sort of warning, but I can't really think how to word it. Xenophobia maybe?

«Right – we will need to put out some sort of statement, explaining what’s going to happen. Look at how everything’s organised, think about a viable way for the humans to stay, should they want to-»

He paused, belatedly noticing Roda’s silence. «I hope you don’t mind me taking over like that?»

And still she was just looking at him…

«Oh, of course. I promised you a zero room. Sorry, my mind gets stuck in grooves sometimes.»

He held up the laser and summoned his TARDIS.

«Some time out would probably be good?»

Eventually she spoke. Sitting up straight, she was still looking at him what that incredulous look, the one she hadn’t really lost since he’d saved her.

«Why?»

He met her eyes, and knew she wouldn’t back down until she had an answer that satisfied her. And any moment she’d ask ‘In your world, what are we to each other?’ and that led to a whole avalanche of awkwardness.

«I don’t like to see you hurt,» he replied.

«You’ve seen me hurt before,» she said. A statement, not a question.

He fell silent. It would be easy to share the story of the first time he had met her as an ‘adult’ – how she’d turned up in the Doctor’s TARDIS whilst he was studying, covered in bruises and scratches and with a dislocated shoulder from an encounter with his father and a waffle iron...

But that would not answer the implied accusation.

«I told you when and where I was born. I remember you…»

«Why did you never mention any of this before?»

He quirked an eyebrow, trying to stop a wry smile.

«Because ‘One of my earliest memories is of my father torturing you’ would have gone down a storm… Look, I would like to get you to a zero room – do you trust me enough for that?»

A long look.

«Fine. Lead the way.»

~~~

The Seeker’s TARDIS control room was white and gold inside, very different to her warm reds, but it was the decor that threw her most. Sofas and cupboards and other comforts around the edges. It had to be something to do with his human upbringing, she reasoned, but it oddly did more to reassure her than most of his words. He sent one of the Toclafane off 'to put the kettle on' and though she'd rather he sent them away for good the warm drink was reassuring, too.

It wasn’t quite her idea of comforting, but it was the thought that counted. And of course there was the fact that he had saved her life, but she was not yet able to process that. Being looked after was nice, however.

A zero room, a cup of tea (he claimed he grew his own), and a general concern for her wellbeing… She couldn’t remember the last time. They chatted, like new friends might, and for the first time in forever she felt herself relax.

Just for a moment.

~~~

Roda never shared her reasons, but she seemed to have made some kind of decision to trust him.

Which was nice since he’d saved her life, but he knew her well enough to understand that the one did not lead automatically to the other. But since she _did_ trust him (more or less), they set about trying to restructure the society as best they could.

He contacted The Shadow Proclamation, and whilst they were happy to come and deal with the Captain, they were even happier when the Seeker volunteered to re-organise the planet on their behalf.

They’d send a commissioner to inspect everything in due time and to take away the Captain for a proper trial, but that was all.

The Seeker smiled. Challenge accepted.

Although of course it would have been a lot simpler without all the _people…_

He held a small referendum for the humans to begin with – a simple enough choice: To either let The Shadow Proclamation take over wholesale (with Judoon trampling through everything, and the very real possibility of forced removal of the humans to places unknown), or let himself and Roda attempt to reorganise their society, adding and updating sorely needed technology (making the slave labour obsolete in the process), and creating some kind of way forward for the two species to co-exist.

As foreseen, the referendum had worked well, and they had upwards of 90% of the people behind him. In theory at least.

A somewhat similar effort was put into place for the Crinitus, but in their case it was more about discovering how their society had functioned before the humans’ arrival; which aspects could be salvaged, and which could be augmented by the technology now available. As Roda had foreseen they were harder to talk to, and less willing to work with anyone who, in their eyes, looked to be human.

He would have been quite happy to do a little show-and-tell, to convince them of the differences between Time Lords and humans, but Roda refused. So no fancy show, although he was sure it would have made things simpler… Of course, quite simply being able to _speak_ with them marked them out as other-than-human, so possibly Roda had a point.

Deciding early on that there was no point in doing anything by half-measures, he cast his net as wide as possible. The change had to be _real_ , and it had to be deep, going down to the very roots, to the point where it had all gone wrong initially. He knew it’d be an uphill battle (humans disliked change that inconvenienced them in any way, of that he was well aware), but if he had known just how difficult it would become he might have given up before he had even started.

But to begin with, it was simply a new and exciting challenge that he thought himself more than capable of meeting. Neither humans nor Crinitus were particularly happy with his approach - but it was his way, or the highway.

And he was sure it could be done. Whether borne out of arrogance or idealism the result was the same, and his innate stubbornness did the rest.

Roda seemed slightly taken aback at his wide-ranging plans, and queried and questioned his every choice, something he was not used to and which chafed somewhat. He did his best to be polite, but he was, and always had been, best working on his own, and having his motives quizzed was a strange curveball. Not so much what, but _why._

When her questions got insistent, he replied that he needed to be aware of _all_ the facts, in order to go forward.

«Everything is connected. Every single part of a society is important. If we want to create change, change that will _last_ , we need to make sure the _whole_ of their society is going to reflect that change.»

She would snort, and drop the subject, but he had the feeling it was more to avoid conflict between them than anything else. Adjusting his initial assessment, he concluded that she trusted him with _her own_ safety – the rest of the world, not so much.

She was fantastically capable of course; dealing with most of the actual interactions with the two factions, firm but fair, telling him the outcomes of meetings and discussions. But there was always that barrier, mistrust in her looks and attitude. He knew her well enough to know when she was holding back, and if it hadn’t been for their shared project - and the fact that he couldn’t really afford a (probably heated and prolonged) argument with the only other person in charge - he would have had it out immediately.

As it was, they talked ‘shop’, discussed strategies and plans and the slowly unfolding nightmare that was their peace and reconciliation programme.

His evenings were mostly spent drafting a legal document fit for The Shadow Proclamation, clauses and subclauses multiplying. No one else seemed to care, but he knew that without a solid legal framework everything would collapse the second they left. Roda of course chafed against any kind of authority, but they were a long way from Sherwood, and in these forests there were no merry men…

He researched countless peace and reconciliation programmes, which in their case would have to be integrated with updating the industry and food production, giving the Crinitus back their freedom without adversely affecting the human population.

Neither side was willing to meet with the other - the Crinitus suspected a trap, and the humans thought it fruitless to attempt a dialogue with the ‘savages’, who would probably only be out for revenge and might turn violent…

The impulse to snarl that they were all bloody primitives to him was a constant temptation, but so far he’d managed to avoid it.

On top of all this, there were the links with the black market. Having shut down the mines with immediate effect (the conditions had been… unspeakable), the humans were wailing that now they had no income, that the smugglers and black marketeers would punish them, that he was ruining everything they had done.

He’d replied coldly that any human was free to go work in the mines, and the delegation he had been speaking with had walked out, incensed.

After that he had met with the Crinitus, something which always made him question every choice he was making, and put him on edge.

They were an evolving species which had been thrown off course; dragged not just millennia forwards in terms of technology in the space of less than a century, but also enslaved and brutalised, and they were rightfully furious. Having finally been given a voice, they did not hesitate sharing their thoughts:

_{ This was our land. This was our world. The demon-naked-strangers fell from the sky, tearing our lives apart, destroying everything that was ours, desecrating our sacred places, hiding in huts made of shiny-hard-tall, carrying pain-fire-hurt in their hands and you say you bring us **justice** , but you don’t! Justice would be giving them **our fate**. They should be **our slaves**! Why do they not **pay**? Why do they not **leave**? They don’t **belong** here! }_

He didn’t have an answer, partly because he found himself agreeing. Being aware of the conflict of interests, he noted down his preference and endeavoured to be as impartial as possible. The personal and the public were different things. And Roda was good at speaking up for the humans.

However, one night he travelled a few hundred years into the past (only gone for a few moments in the present), spending many days observing the Crinitus as they had been, unseen.

He found them fascinating, a thrilling new species with a culture all their own, and could have wept at the humans’ unfortunate landing… 

Now and again he’d overhear one of the humans quoting one of their sayings, yet another one of the tiny details which he would have to eradicate somehow.

“What kind of bird doesn’t even sing?”

The implications and accusations were multilayered. As if the Crinitus’ lack of song somehow made them inferior by not conforming to the stereotype; as if they owed it to their human masters to at least provide something in the way of beauty, not just labour. They should suffer with song, not with silence.

But, he discovered on his brief sojourn, they _did_ sing. The basic communication used for everyday life was the same, simple chirrups and clicks, but for all community-centric occasions - hatchings, celebrations, funerals - they would sing, sometimes hundreds strong, and the sheer spine-tingling beauty and potency of it made him catch his breath in awe and wonder.

The humans’ arrival had destroyed this, without them ever realising. He wasn’t exactly keeping a tally of black marks against the humans, but he was getting very fed up with them. Especially their attitude, which was nigh on impossible to deal with.

If they had straight up admitted to being in the wrong, everything would have been much easier.

A simple ‘We were scared, we did terrible things out of fear and greed, but we know it was wrong. Help us how to make amends and how to forge a way forward’ and the whole thing would have been child’s play, comparatively.

But no. Every step of the way they had to attempt to _justify_ their actions, and it was more infuriating every time it happened.

Most galling of all had been the explanations for why they had forced the Crinitus to do their mining for them.

“Look, they started it!” an elderly engineer stated, holding her head high as she tried to look down her nose at him. “Tunnels all over the planet. Weren’t good at it, so we streamlined the whole thing, found richer ores for them to mine, but _they_ were the ones to start the digging. Been going on forever as far as we can tell!”

He stared at her, almost too bewildered at the sheer stupidity to be angry at the bald lies.

“Those are the burrows they dig for _hatching_! They live in them-”

“Don’t be ridiculous Mr Seeker, they live in huts.”

Could they genuinely be this ignorant? Could they have lived with another species for more than seventy years and never realise-?

Centering himself he spoke slowly and carefully, trying to remember that they were all refugees and that although they were skilled in their respective areas of expertise, their education had been severely lacking. (The education system was yet another area that needed a complete overhaul.) And they had, brutally, but effectively, enforced their rules on the Crinitus, without ever trying to discover anything about the other species.

“Yes, you are correct. They live in huts. _However_. As a _species_ , they evolved to dig burrows underground for laying eggs, and for raising the chicks until they were old enough to fend for themselves. It’s a very clever tactic, and the burrows are very safe, with - as I am sure you know - many exits for each hatching place, should any predators come for them. With time, they became more elaborate, a sort of hatching chamber equivalent to the ancient Earth-that-was custom of burial mounds…”

The humans were not interested.

“So, they had eggs instead of mining. Still underground. Easy mistake to make.”

One of them chuckled. “The irony is somewhat delicious, don’t you think? So preoccupied with laying _eggs_ that they never discovered the riches they’ve been living on top of.”

“Speaking of eggs, have you ever seen one of their chicks?” an elderly Medic asked. “Ugliest thing alive. Was called in ‘cause they were dying left right and center, and we had to bring out make-shift incubators to keep them alive.” ( _‘No wonder,’_ the Seeker thought to himself, _‘if you forced them to hatch their eggs in the middle of a slave camp.’_ ) “Wasn’t happy about as you can imagine, but we _did_ need them to survive, obviously. If we had proper resources we could have started actual genetic manipulation, making them sturdier, more obedient, and better suited for the work, but our business contacts were pushing the prices up _way_ past what could be considered reasonable. And now-”

He spread his hands in a gesture of hopelessness, before realising that he’d spoken out of turn, taking in the Seeker’s silent, expressionless face, then abruptly standing.

“Look, they’re fucking _birds_! I’ve been over them from beak to claw, I don’t know why you’re so bloody bothered, Mr Time Lord, _Sir_. As a medic, I can give you my word that they’re no different from the birds our ancestors used to _eat_.” 

“Thank you for your input,” he replied, not allowing any emotion to rise to the surface. “I will make a note of it.”

“You want to ‘make a note’ of what I say?” the Medic replied, anger rising. “Make a note of this - I didn’t get into medicine to help _birds_ , but that’s what I was assigned to do, so that’s what I did. Doing my bit to keep us going, and I have saved more bloody furries than you can count. And not once - not _ever_ \- did they ever show the slightest display of gratitude. Now I may not speak squawk the way you seem to, but I have observed them for many many years, and I know how they communicate. And _never_ have they cared what I did for them!”

If he’d been Roda, maybe he’d have found something better to say, some way to reach out.

As it was he tilted his head, and raised a single eyebrow, wondering if maybe forcing them all to read Toni Morrison’s _Beloved_ might help them to see past their prejudices, but he had a feeling they would say that the Crinitus weren’t _people_ , and thus the analogy was flawed. Maybe blunt was the way to go? So blunt they couldn’t miss the point.

“Well, I must confess I’m beginning to understand how you feel. It is increasingly frustrating to help creatures with no sense of gratitude...”

The Medic, furious as he took in the meaning, turned on his heel and left.

The rest of the humans observed in silence, but he could tell they wished they could applaud their colleague.

The Seeker looked round the sullen, rebellious faces. The room they were sitting in had until recently been used for sorting, cleaning and polishing the gem stones. There were still roughly fashioned wooden crates all around the edges of the room, filled to varying degrees with their ill-gotten riches. He knew they hated being here, being reminded of their wealth and the attendant crimes. If it had been possible, he’d have organised meetings in the mines themselves, but that was obviously not feasible. 

This however was a perfectly serviceable room, and since the humans were crammed into their ships to overflowing, it made sense to use what available space there was.

“If you want to leave, please leave. Unless of course you want to have any kind of input into the process, and the rights of your people. The Shadow Proclamation will be along in due course - what they see when they arrive is partly up to you.”

The remainder glared, but stayed. And slowly, dragging their feet, questioning and querying and hindering anything they could, the process continued.

Nothing helped. Not explanations, not patience, not threats (unless they were explicit).

He infinitely preferred the Crinitus. They were downright murderous in their fury, and he was (much to his regret) forced to keep them contained as he feared they might go on a rampage, but their anger was _honest_ , and it was justified. He could deal with that far more easily than the humans’ constant attempts at manipulation and machinations and the million and one hindrances they threw in his path.

For the millionth time he’d wish for his army of Toclafane, wondering if he was mad for trying to reconcile two hostile peoples with no visible power to speak of, except the still distant arrival of the Shadow Proclamation. It was all well and good organising a world as if he were a conquering Roman army, but he worried that he was entering a metaphorical Germanic forest...

He could feel things coming to a head, knowing that Roda’s discomfort was growing day by day.

But what else could he do?


	21. A Long Way from Sherwood 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> With many thanks to **redjaded** for writing about 90% of this chapter, so Roda is properly in character.  <3

Roda helped, but she was not happy.

She had no appetite for bureaucracy, and although she admired the Seeker’s drive and vision, she found his approach instinctively off-putting. Was it all necessary?

Talking to people was all well and good, but she needed to understand why. How was she supposed to explain things and get them on board when she herself chafed at a lot of his decisions?

Like the way he delved into every aspect of the humans’ lives, asking for explanations and justifications for every detail of the way they had structured their society, from child rearing to the construction of the drones.

It was as if he’d had a plan ready and waiting, and was trying to fit the situation into the plan, rather than the other way around. 

Excepting of course the ‘peace process’, something which became more complex and difficult with every passing day. The Seeker was drafting a legal document fit for The Shadow Proclamation, clauses and subclauses multiplying, and Roda doubted anyone would ever be able to understand the final version, whenever it might be completed.

What good were legal documents, she thought, when the low-level anger was palpable wherever she went? A constant backdrop to everything she did, it was draining her so much it began to colour everything she did.

Now and again it would flare up unexpectedly, with no pattern or warning. It was like living on a fault line, constantly waiting for the next possible earthquake, and wondering how bad it would be this time.

~~~

For the past month, Roda had found herself walking the planet alone at night, careful to keep out of the watchful ‘eyes’ of the drones. Now, with the freedom to go wherever she wanted, she continued that.

The Seeker had imposed a curfew on both sides, with varying degrees of escalation. For the Crinitus it was much the same as the system the humans had put in place; the fences around their living areas were locked at night, now with the addition of a small toclafane-manned proximity alarm. They didn’t like it, but very little changed, and so it had been easy enough to enforce. 

The humans were, of course, less happy about being shepherded into their spaceship-homes every night at sunset and being locked in, and no matter what way she looked at it, Roda found that she couldn’t blame them. But the Seeker had insisted - in that infuriating way he often did when his mind was made up - that he had more important things to do than ‘hold their hands at night’ and it hadn’t been worth the argument. ‘Both sides are scared they’ll be murdered in their sleep - and with good reason. The curfew removes that worry. Simple.’

In practice, there were very few problems. Roda added to her list of chores looking for any stragglers who had accidentally-or-not found themselves outside their area at night, and on the rare occasion someone slipped through the Seeker’s setup they were usually easy to handle. Tonight, however, was different.

Teenagers, she supposed, were teenagers whatever planet they were from. The three she had stumbled over had somehow found a blind spot in the Seeker’s defences - she noted, begrudgingly, that she would have to bring it to his attention - and had taken advantage of the fact to take part in some casual chaos. She reached out for their minds, staying hidden at first, to gauge the threat. All they were interested in was drinking the miners’ gut-melting grog and graffiting the complex. Lots of ‘Time Lords go home’ and ‘Our planet now’, interspersed with some particularly rude words.

She stepped around the corner slowly, her sonic pressed against her palm by the crook of her thumb, but her hands held up peacefully. All three spun around, the fear evident on their faces as their simplistic spray cans clattered to the ground. (Whether from seeing her, or whether from have been discovered stealing and misusing a precious resource like paint - or possibly both - was anyone’s guess.)

“Look…” she began, trying to keep a warm smile on her face. “You’re not in trouble, but if you want this peace to work you have to-”

“Screw you!” The youngest of the bunch pushed past his friends to shove her in the chest, and it took all of Roda’s willpower to remind herself that not only was he not a threat, but starting a fight would only make things worse. “We’re not doing nothing.”

“If you really need to deface the wall, at least do it during the day.” Catching herself before she fell Roda took a mental breath and tried to radiate a sense of calm, exercising telepathic abilities she hadn’t used in the longest time. It seemed to have the wrong effect.

“Is that one of your _rules_ is it?” The teenager sneered, planning to shove her again before his friend grabbed his arm. Roda grit her teeth, continuing to force a grin. “I’ll show you where to stick your-”

“Hey!” She jumped out the way of a swung fist, her temper rising, and aimed the screwdriver without thinking. “Come on, I’ll take you home, no one needs to know this happened if you just _calm down_!”

“Who put you in charge?!” He started to shout, spitting with anger, and Roda was certain the Toclafane would appear any second now. She shook her head, trying to get him to quieten down as his friends began to drag him away, hissing at him to ‘shut up’ and 'Jacob, let it go’. Clever kids. He jabbed a finger in her direction as they led him back towards the ships. “Answer me that, _Time Lady_. No one made you the God of us.”

Refusing to rise to the bait she trailed behind them, shooting down his - Jacob’s - continued, much quieter ranting. She used her sonic to unlock the Seeker’s defences and usher them into the first spaceship they reached. The walk back to her TARDIS was much quieter, but no less unnerving. Who were they to restructure a society that hadn’t asked for their help? If only there was another way.

The next morning she tried to bring up the issue covertly. Why all the hundreds of rules, why the indepth enquiries on every level?

The Seeker replied that he needed to be aware of all the facts, in order to go forward:

«Everything is connected. Every single part of a society is important. If we want to create change, change that will _last_ , we need to make sure the _whole_ of their society is going to reflect that change.»

Tapping fingers on the control panel, unsettled, she shook her head.

«Look, it’s just that – it’s freaking me out. Like – I’m seeing it all from the other side?»

«What? The planning?»

«Yeah. You’re-»

She hesitated, biting her lip.

«A control freak?» he asked. «And you’re not used to being on the side of the control freak?»

«Yeah. That. I get what you’re doing, it’s good – like, it’ll probably work, even if it takes the humans a while to, y’know, get used to it, but you’re _so much_ like the Master…»

He leaned back in the chair, steepling his fingers, and she had to suppress a shudder, even as she tried to listen to his response:

«Look, this whole situation is _exactly_ what I have always been avoiding. _Everything we do_ , they resent us for. There is no way to sweet-talk them, because we have come in as usurpers. So you’re right, I am drawing from my father’s rulebook somewhat, because there is no other way to do this. Please, if you can think of a way to make them all sit down and sing Kumbaya together, be my guest.»

She fell silent, frustrated and uncertain.

He was wrong, she _knew_ he was wrong, but there was no magical solution. She had searched for one for a month and never found one, whilst observing and feeling continually more disheartened.

Being in charge hadn’t altered that.

Taking her silence as implied approval, the Seeker went back to work. What his feelings were, she couldn’t guess at.

~~~

Because of her TARDIS being in the woods - its existence unknown to the humans - Roda spent a good deal more time quite simply walking around than the Seeker. The humans thought she did early morning visits to the Crinitus, an idea she encouraged. But she also liked being aware of her surroundings, and made sure to make her way around every nook and cranny of the ships. The Seeker claimed he knew it all from maps, but Roda liked to see things for herself. There were things no map could tell you.

She more than suspected that the Seeker knew this, and was counting on her to report back anything worth relaying - discrepancies in maps, any alterations in living or working arrangements that might suggest something had changed - and she couldn’t work out whether it was taking advantage of her, or whether it was an efficient use of their time, so they didn’t duplicate work.

On the whole, it was a grim experience.

The ships were old, and built for space faring, not as planet based living quarters or work shops. Human ingenuity had of course done its best, but their resources were limited, and it showed. Their focus on the gemstone mining had left other areas lagging behind, and metal was scarce.

The difficulties of their situation became abundantly obvious after a very short time. Despite space being so limited, they dared not expand out of fear - fear of the Crinitus, fear of the planet itself and its toxic flora.

There was a claustrophobic atmosphere everywhere, more than just the underlying anger. It had begun to affect Roda much the same way it did them, making her quicker to anger. The Crinitus’ life on the planet clearly suited it much better, but her thoughts were a mess. Lights were low, ceilings and walls quietly rusting, paint peeling. And since they dared not bring the Crinitus anywhere near their living spaces - and any robots had been turned into drones - all drudgery was undertaken by the humans themselves.

Humans washing, cleaning, carrying, cooking; wherever she went they were busy. (She tried to help, too, but the Seeker discouraged it and she could see his reasoning, even if she disagreed with it. But the Crinitus wouldn’t accept her help at all, and she hated just watching.) The brightest children were taught medicine, engineering, biology and other essential functions, but the rest were tasked with simply keeping their society going. Technological advances fell by the wayside in favour of survival necessities. It was a hard life, with few upsides. Art, music, drama, fashion… All were rudimentary at best, remnants of whatever had been stored in the ships’ databases, and disintegrating fast.

Comparing their lives to what she remembered from Sherwood Forest, these humans’ lives seemed far less fulfilled. There was a grimness to everything that sat badly with her. They were clinging to life, desperate, so stuck in their ways that they couldn’t see beyond the narrow scope of their personal experiences and limited existence.

One day, about a week after the incident with the teenagers, she found herself accosted by an older woman, who had been busy scrubbing a wall as Roda walked past. Except as Roda carefully stepped around her, the woman reached out and grasped her arm.

She looked not unlike Francine Jones, but worn down by a life of drudgery, her face drawn and aged far beyond the woman Roda remembered painfully well. They hadn’t been able to speak much, but she remembered everything of that year. 

Searching her eyes, the woman implored her, voice trembling: “My Lady. Listen. Please. You and the other one - you make all these plans, you think you can bring peace, that you can create Utopia. You don’t understand. You can’t let them free. They will kill us.”

 _“They_ didn’t start the war,” she replied, unable to allow the woman to cast the humans as victims, no matter how moving the petition, no matter how deep her guilt.

The woman abruptly pulled away, eyes glittering with anger and regret and bitterness.

“Our blood will be on your hands. Mark my works, Time Lady. You have brought ruin upon us.”

Roda’s hearts ached; she could hear the honesty in her words. Even as she walked away, muttering an apology that couldn’t ever go far enough, her words kept echoing in Roda’s head. The fear was real, and she didn’t doubt that it was well-founded. How many lives had the Time Lords ruined? How many worlds had they let be destroyed in pursuit of the Daleks?

Skaro, why had she been too late? There were no winners in this, slaves and masters both caught in a web of violence and anger. It wasn’t like Bandraginus V, where there had been a clear villain doing obviously villainous things for purely villainous reasons. Everyone was dying, and although she admired the Seeker’s almost clinical attempt at untangling the mess, she knew that it was all wrong. None of his books could prepare him for the reality of this kind of war, only the theory. She couldn’t pinpoint any one thing or action, but overall she could already feel the strain in every furtive look and every muttered word.

Why wouldn’t they let them help? What possible thing could they have promised them in order to get them on board?

~~~

One month into their ‘experiment’ (as she had wryly started referring to it in her head, already half-convinced of its failure), she happened to notice a child hovering by a door, looking awkward and scared. She seemed to be waiting for someone - a handful of adults were inside, meeting with the Seeker, and she supposed the girl could easily be one of their children. She smiled at her as warmly as she could muster - this wasn’t the _children’s_ fault - and continued to walk, but as she neared by the child began to fuss expectantly.

“Excuse me,” she began, half-stepping forwards, “Lady Redjay…?”

“It’s just Roda,” she replied, slowing her steps, then stopping, still smiling.

The girl looked to be around ten… Roda hesitated… Possibly twelve years old. They were not exactly malnourished, but their growth had been stunted by their contained and curtailed living.

“I wanted to-” the girl twisted her hands, swallowed, bit her lip. Roda hated being _scary_. She had always had a soft spot for children, and an impossible desire to be a mother that had haunted her through the years. “The grown-ups keep saying that-”

“What?” Roda asked, possibly a little too sharply. Rumours. Whispers in the corners. Angry confrontations, quiet asides. It never stopped, and recently it had gotten worse. She more than suspected a plot of some kind, and the soldier in her was very alert.

And now this child…

“It-it doesn’t matter,” the girl backtracked, clearly worried she would get someone in trouble. “Just- just what will happen to us?”

Reaching out, she put a gentle hand on the girl’s shoulder. So young, she shouldn’t carry such fears on her slender shoulders. She knelt down on one knee, hoping that by being on the same level, the child would feel less intimidated.

“We want to look after you, make things _better”_ she said, as firmly and carefully as she could. Then added, seeing as the child had gone silent: “What’s your name?”

“Aisha,” the girl replied, and Roda smiled. “That’s a very pretty name. It means ‘Alive’, did you know that?”

Aisha didn’t reply except shrugging, before briefly glancing at Roda’s face.

“They say that- That you will punish us. That we made the gods angry and now we have to pay…”

The humans were not particularly religious, but there were little pockets of believers, people who justified the treatment of the Crinitus with simplistic, blunted faith, and Roda could feel her teeth set on edge.

“It’s about right and wrong. No one is going to punish you, we are just trying to make things _fair_. You know that what you were doing to the Crinitus was wrong, yes?”

The girl nodded, but didn’t meet her eyes.

“Th- they’re just scary. Scarier than you.”

Eyes widening Aisha seemed to realise that she had spoken out loud what should have remained unsaid and fled in panic.

Swearing silently, Roda decided that it couldn’t carry on like this. She’d tried to ignore the warning signs, but no more.

She couldn’t do this any longer, not like this.


	22. A Long Way from Sherwood 7

_Evening_

The Seeker had been working late, as there were currently seven different versions of the main legal document - the final version still far off and dependant on the eventual outcome of the discussions - when there was a knock on the door to the control room.

Sighing, and wondering if he should quite simply lock the humans in their rooms all night, he asked whoever it was to enter.

The door opened, and then softly closed, but the person didn’t speak. Eventually he glanced up, hand pausing over the pad he was using.

It was a young woman, dressed in something which exposed not only her arms, but also legs and shoulders, and she was _smiling_. Evenings were cold, even within the old spaceships, and she had to be freezing. The oddness of her smile was so striking that for a moment he could only stare.

“What do you want?” he eventually asked, and her smile deepened as she walked across the floor towards him, eyelashes fluttering.

“The question is - what do _you_ want? You seem… so _lonely_ at night,” she replied, voice like honey, and it slowly dawned on him that she had been sent to seduce him. The clothing was silken, alluring (where had it come from? It had to be old and carefully preserved). Her hair was carefully arranged, her face made up, her feet bare.

For long seconds he merely watched her, incredulous. Were there no depths these people wouldn’t sink to? He could see the tiny tremor in the corner of her mouth, the carefully hidden chill that was more than just the cold; beneath the allure, she was frightened. 

He closed his eyes, biting back the fury. She was merely a tool for them, and deserved his pity, not his fury.

 _“Go,”_ he said, as gently as he could, then adding, as he saw the rising panic in her eyes: “Let’s say you’re… not my type.”

He hoped that would settle the matter - she was objectively the most attractive creature he had seen so far, and surely rejecting _her_ would mean they’d get the message? 

Instead she stepped closer, a knowing look in her eyes:

“I have a brother,” she breathed as she leaned in, conspiratorial. “Only fifteen, even prettier than me…”

At her words, his patience finally snapped. 

He could almost _feel_ it, like an elastic band finally stretched beyond endurance.

One month, _only one month_ , and he’d reached the end of his tether. But this was it, he’d had enough, no question about it.

Abruptly capturing her wrist in a vice-like grip, he spoke slowly and deliberately, his anger tightly coiled and focussed like a laser. 

“You listen to me _very very carefully_ , and you take this message back to those who sent you: If they think that prostituting _children_ is something could sway me to their side or _in any way_ incur my favour, they have very seriously misjudged what kind of man I am.”

Letting go of her before he did any damage, physical or otherwise, he stepped back, unbidden memories crowding his head.

_(His father pinning his mother to the wall; Allison stepping away from him, terrified; Josh and Jamie at his feet, adoring…)_

“When I said you are not my type, I meant _humans_. You are much, _much_ too breakable.”

The implicit warning was more than understood as she turned pale, then fled.

Taking a deep breath, he sank back into the chair, eyes drifting past the legal documents he was working on and out through the windows. The dark skies above the planet were filled with stars, and he wanted nothing more than to just _leave._

Well, he wanted to get thoroughly, completely drunk, and then leave. 

He’d looked for a challenge? This wasn’t a challenge, it was a nightmare. How was he supposed to help people he _despised_? 

Altruism was clearly a fool’s errand in his case. Too much of his father in him, maybe. 

It should probably worry him, but right now he was still too angry.

Instead he sealed the knowledge away for future reference. He’d have to re-consider his approach to Empire. What the hell had this TARDIS thought, bringing him here? 

‘Goddess’ Caan had said. It’d take more than a dozen goddesses to fix this mess, that was for sure. 

(It was like the Matrix all over again. Somewhere, somehow, he’d made an error. A very serious error, but _how_? _Where_? How could he fix it, if he didn’t know what part was wrong? Unless it was just the humans, being… _human_.)

Right now, however, something seriously alcoholic and then sleep. Tomorrow he’d need a long chat with Roda. Something had to give, and it’d probably be him. It stung his pride, but he was going to have to admit defeat.

Although - where did she go at night? Would it be worth tracking her down now? He paused. That might not be fair though, letting her bear the brunt of his ire… Even if it’d come with an apology. 

In any case, Whiskey first.

~~~

_Night_

Whenever Roda needed to settle her thoughts, she returned to Sherwood Forest.

Of course, though it felt a lot like coming home, it wasn’t as though she could show her face amongst Robin Hood and his men. As far as they were concerned, the Redjay they had known and, she hoped, loved as much as she still loved them had died years ago. But that didn’t stop her from visiting old haunts and familiar places, spots amongst the trees where she could simply turn her mind off and _think_. She could be _home_ , but much like Gallifrey, _she_ could not be there. Today, she had broken that simple rule.

The whole mess with the Seeker and the Crinitus and the refugees had unnerved her in ways that over a month of hiding out and watching hadn’t done. She had snuck away not long after heading to bed, making the excuse to herself that she was a Time Lord; she could be back before anybody had even noticed she was gone. She had wondered how Robin, and Will Scarlet, and Allan a Dale, and all of the others would react not only to the fact that she was alive but that her face had changed, but they had welcomed her into the glen with open arms and laughter and… everything, to her, that the Seeker’s earthly comforts were to him. She had a bow in her hand, Allan’s arm around her waist, and a pint of ale on a tree stump beside her and for a moment, nothing felt wrong with the world.

They had taken the invaders to _their_ forest in their stride. _“T’is nothing but another of the sheriff's attempts to infiltrate our merry band!”_ , Robin had insisted, and he was right that they had always evaded his patrols before and would continue to do so again. But disaster had followed her across time and space.

The first screams had been Will’s, an ugly, hearts-stopping noise that ended as quickly as it had begun. Wondering if perhaps the sheriff's men had come better armed than usual Roda had sprinted towards his voice, an arrow held between two fingers and ready to notch at a moment’s notice, but she reached the body too late. It wasn’t Will’s, but a man, barely a teenager, rage all over his features and his clothes unlike any she had seen in Sherwood before. Standing over him, numb with shock and confusion, she had almost missed another cry, and then another, more familiar voice that stabbed at hearts and turned them to ice. Allan, his musical voice strangled with pain and he shouted out her name. She had tripped over roots and stones, cutting her feet in her haste to meet him, but when she finally found where his call had come from… it was the Seeker’s body painting the foliage red, his eyes open even as his life bled from him.

“But…” she pressed her hands to the ugly wound in his chest - no weapon from the twelfth century could do something like this? “You can’t be here. Why did you follow me?” But her thoughts were interrupted again.

“Lady Redjay…” Swivelling around her eyes settled on the little girl - Aisha? - she had met the day before. How could the Seeker have been so careless? “What will happen to us?”

“Run!” she swung her arm back into the dark of the forest, “it’s not safe here!”

Before Roda could act again a streak of light, sparking with fractured electricity, thudded into the tree beside them. She fell to her knees, shielding the child’s body with her own, trying frantically to understand how somebody had brought _that_ weapon to Sherwood forest. She would know one anywhere… the Time Lords had distributed them in the last days of the war, futilely trying to equip the universe for the end of existence. What was it doing here…? Glaring up at the monster who had attacked her forest, people she had sworn to protect all of her lives and in the last few months. Something about the Shadow Proclamation was already on her lips - how could she have come so far to escape this madness, only to run back into its arms in her one safe place.

_{ Thieves. Child killers. Killed us. Chased us here. Stole our home. }_

Surprise choked her words out of her as their attacker discharged its weapon into the bushes and then loomed over them. Still speaking in its language, half telepathically inside her troubled mind, the Crinitus clicked and chirruped with anger as it tried to understand the superior technology it held.

_{ Seek revenge. Kill. }_

“I’m sorry!” the Time Lady shouted, exhausted, angry, on the brink of frustrated tears. War, war, war, _everything_ was war. “You shouldn’t be here! I should have _stopped_ them!”

As the world began to spin, blurring into Lincoln green and yellow sun and dark grey clouds and blood red, a hundred voices echoed through her mind, the pain and anger of Crinitus and humans alike threatening to overwhelm her.

_“Our blood will be on your hands, Time Lady. You have brought ruin upon us.”_

She awoke with a start, panting and sweat-soaked, with the horrifying realisation that it might have been a nightmare… but it was all too real. It had been a month, and the mental exhaustion was beginning to get to her.

The Seeker kept assuring her, during their daily meetings, that everything was on track. His plan was in motion, and the Shadow Proclamation was satisfied. And yet the low-level anger was not just palpable but _growing_ wherever she went. The humans and the Crinitus _weren’t_ satisfied, and neither was she. 

She’d talk to him in the morning. And he would have to change.

~~~

_Morning_

Roda was standing by the big windows in what had been the control room, absently tapping a foot, before turning to face him as the Seeker stepped out of his TARDIS.

He could see that the issues that had been brewing had finally reached some sort of tipping point for her also.

Sinking into what had been the Captain’s chair he looked up at her, willing himself into extending his listening mode. He could do this. There was a hangover lurking somewhere at the back of his skull, but he forced it back.

The anger from last night was more difficult to banish, but he tried his best not to let it colour his words.

«Go on, spit it out. What’s bothering you? Me, I’m guessing. As usual. And what I do.»

«It’s not working,» she said bluntly.

«No,» he agreed, which seemed to take her by surprise. «But I’ll be damned if I know what to do about it.»

She shot him her best frustrated look:

«Look, have you actually tried _talking_ to any of them?»

«The humans?” he asked, fighting to keep the distaste out his voice, last night’s encounter still much too fresh in his mind. “I’ve tried to ascertain what they want, as best I can-»

«But have you _talked_ to them? Any of them? Personally?» she interrupted.

«I’m not here to be their _friend_ ,» he snapped, defensively. «I’m reorganising their whole society and trying to find a way for them to peacefully co-exist with the species they turned into slaves. I’ve told them that if anyone wants to leave, I’ll make sure they are safely resettled in a human society elsewhere. So far there have been no takers.»

Wrapping her arms around herself, Roda shook her head.

«That’s not what I mean. I hate what they did, but you can’t – can’t discount their viewpoint. And you can’t just lump them all in one group.»

«Sure I can.»

«But it’s not working!» she repeated, and he threw his hands in the air.

«You think I’m not aware of that? Last night-»

He stopped. Something was wrong. Roda looked like she wanted to say something, but he held up a hand as he tried to work out what it was.

It took a little while, but then he realised – he couldn’t sense the Toclafane. The possible implications of this were still sinking in when the door burst open and dozens of lethal weapons were aimed at them.

Clearly the humans were now opting for ‘Plan B’ after last night’s fiasco.

«Seems like the time for talking is over,» he said dryly, as he saw Roda reach for her sonic.


	23. A Long Way from Sherwood 8

Unfortunately the humans were very quick off the mark. Before Roda could use her sonic to disable any of their weapons they had taken it out of her hands, and similarly divested the Seeker of his laser.

Oddly he didn’t seem concerned about the loss of his weapon, instead sharply asking:

“What have you done to my Toclafane?”

“We ask the questions now, _Time Lord_ ,” the Captain sneered, and the Seeker raised an eyebrow.

“I’ve faced down Davros himself and his entire Dalek fleet – if you think a dozen humans with primitive guns would worry me, you have seriously misjudged the situation. _Again_. So: Where. Are. My. Toclafane?”

_Faced down Davros_ … Roda forgot what she was about to say. What was this? When had this been? He claimed to have been born after the War…

“Why do you think we’d know?” one of the guards replied – a little too quickly – and the Seeker’s eyes narrowed a fraction.

“Because I can’t sense them. And although I doubt your general intellectual ability, even you wouldn’t attack us if we had backup. If they are harmed in any way…”

The warning was unmistakable, and the Captain stepped forwards. A bit ragged looking after his weeks of having been locked up, but the steel was still there in the way he carried himself.

“And here we see his true colours. Mark it well my people. More concerned about metal spheres than humans.”

At this the Seeker smiled. It wasn’t a nice smile. It was a smile that gave Roda entirely too many flashbacks; a superior, unpleasant smile, that she knew would be followed by something truly abhorrent – the Master had always smiled like that when about to reveal a truth that would hurt more than any lie could.

“You presume there is a difference.”

A beat, then he added: “Give or take a hundred trillion years, that’s you. So again, please tell me – where are they?”

There was murmuring in the ranks, but the Captain swiftly quelled it.

“Don’t listen to him! He wants to distract us from the fact that we have taken back control and they are powerless! Bring the female here.”

Roda abruptly found herself forced from the window to the front of the confrontation, angry both with the Seeker for having dismissed her concerns – and now reaping the benefit of his approach – and also with the humans for being so bone headed and stupid. 

“Don’t think you can get away with this,” she hissed, but the Captain laughed in her face.

“Oh we will. You say you saved us from the Daleks – now you will help save us from your own kind also.”

Aiming his gun at her head, he turned to the Seeker.

“You may say you don’t fear our weapons. And yet, I think you will do as we ask.”

A pause, then the Seeker spoke: “What do you want?”

_«Don’t!»_ Roda cut in, but they ignored her.

“Your TARDIS,” the Captain replied, eyes swiftly jumping behind the Seeker, where his TARDIS stood.

Its outside was the standard metal cylinder of yore – he’d told her how it had a preference for looking like a tree, but in the confines of the old control room, it would have taken up far too much space. As far as she knew, it was currently busy trying to calculate a way to way to alter the eco system of the planet, making it more human friendly without losing any of the inherent benefits for the Crinitus. She’d thought him mad when he suggested it, but he’d merely shrugged and said he’d created his own planet when he was only a teenager, and even if no solution could be found, the experiment would come in useful. After all, he was travelling in order to gather knowledge and information.

The Seeker half-turned, studying the TARDIS, then turned back to the Captain. 

“You can’t fly her, you know,” he replied, and the Captain shook his head.

“Oh we don’t want to _leave_ , goodness no. We want you to send a message to The Shadow Proclamation telling them all is well here, and to never visit. But above all we want its _power_. Being so opposed to using the brutes, you should be pleased with such an elegant solution…”

Roda took a sharp breath at the sheer audacity of the statement, but the Seeker merely tilted his head.

“And why would I do as you ask?”

“I saw how much you care about your… _colleague_. I am sure you don’t want to see her harmed again. Don’t deny it – you bleed, you can feel pain. And thus, we have leverage.”

The Seeker slowly nodded.

“You are correct, yes.”

Eyes widening, Roda exploded:

«Are you out of your _mind_? You can’t possibly do what they ask!»

Ignoring her completely, the Seeker didn’t take his eyes off the Captain.

“Tell me what you did with my Toclafane, and I will open my TARDIS.”

«You _moron_!» Roda raged. «And you pride yourself on your rational mind? What the hell is _wrong_ with you?»

“Toclafane,” the Seeker merely repeated, and the Captain smiled, clearly assured of his victory.

“We trapped them in a stasis field. They’re out of action, and out of your control.”

The Seeker slowly nodded, even as Roda was reminded of the former insight - he could _sense_ them. He had never revealed that particular aspect before… How many other things had he omitted telling her?

“That’s… actually very smart. I may have underestimated you.”

The Captain practically preened:

“Now – your TARDIS.”

The greed in his eyes was unmistakable and Roda wanted to punch the smug look off his face. Possibly followed by a good punch for the Seeker also. _Men._

“As you wish,” the Seeker replied, and took a step back, laying a hand on the side of his TARDIS.

Desperate, Roda tried one last attempt:

«What would your father say if he could see you now?»

Eyes unreadable, he finally looked at her. 

«I truly am sorry,» he said, more gently and regretfully than she had thought him capable of. And she still couldn’t fathom it. Capitulating so easily was beyond painful. 

Then he closed his eyes, standing completely still for more than a minute, seemingly glued to the side of his TARDIS.

“Hurry up!” the Captain said, but the Seeker didn’t budge, or otherwise indicate that he had heard him.

“What’s he doing?” the Captain snapped, turning to Roda, and she curbed the impulse to spit in his face.

“It can sense the danger. He is probably trying to talk it into opening against its better judgment.”

The Captain didn’t look convinced, and she smiled coldly.

“It’s _sentient_ , Captain, not like these metal cans you once steered. If I could stop him, I would.” 

Eventually the Seeker stepped back. 

The door silently slid open, and then-

For a second Roda thought she might be hallucinating, her insides turning to ice and her head feeling suddenly faint.

“Ex-ter-mi-nate! Ex-ter-mi-nate! Ex-ter-mi-nate!” 

The staccato voice broke the stupefied silence, and, as the Dalek moved forwards, pure panic broke out.


	24. A Long Way from Sherwood 9

Roda’s immediate reaction was borne out of years of training and fighting, so instinctive she didn’t even have to think.

The humans were screaming and running, the Dalek’s shots ringing out over their heads as they dodged and fought against each other before finding the doors locked and tearing at the unyielding metal; but Roda calmly (insides a maelstrom of unspeakable emotions, but her training held) picked up a discarded gun, aimed, waited (some part of her registering the Seeker’s immobile figure on the other side of the room) - and then fired.

With a deeply satisfying crunch, the Dalek’s eye stalk was severed, and a second later the Seeker’s voice cried out.

« _No_!! What have you done?»

The Dalek began screaming in pain, spinning disorientated, and the Seeker leapt to its side, reassuring, concerned; before jumping forward as he realised Roda was taking aim again.

«Don’t you _dare_!»

The fury in his eyes was unmistakable, and she gritted her teeth. The Master’s son. She should have known.

Before he reached her, the Captain appeared out of the melee of humans, pointing the laser at the Seeker and yelling something; but the Seeker in a single fluid moment wrestled the laser out of the human’s hands, and then punched him with a vindictiveness that was downright unsettling.

He then turned back to Roda, who was now aiming the gun at _him_. Although the laser in his hand was more deadly than all the bullets in the gun combined, they were still more or less even. Her finger tightened on the trigger:

«This is- Gallifrey called _me_ a Traitor. You're _defending_ a _Dalek_ and you want me to back down?!»

His knuckles went white where he was clutching the laser, but otherwise he remained calm. Although there was a bite to his tone that was new.

«Well, Gallifrey was dead and gone long before I was ever born, I never had the luxury of my people judging me.»

« _Luxury_?!» She seethed, unable to believe what she was hearing. «You think being put on trial by the Council is a _luxury_?»

«Yes, having a home and a people is a luxury. One I never had.»

Somehow his cool demeanour brought out her anger ten-fold, the pent-up violence of fighting that was coursing through her veins needing an outlet or she’d burst.

«I haven't had a home for nearly two thousand years. You had parents who loved you. _I_ never knew one of the people who loomed me and the other was killed. The man,» she spat, «who graciously took me in? Exiled me for crimes I never committed. My lovers? All dead. The soldiers I fought with?»

She could feel her temper rising further as she aimed her gun at the Dalek again. « _Dead_. Because of those…» She found it hard to concentrate, the War rising in front her of, untold death stretching out around her like a tapestry. «Everyone dies. Because of those... those _things_.»

«Its _name_ is Caan. It fought its own. It _helped_ me.»

At the periphery of her vision she was aware that the humans were surrounding them, so far only observing, but that might change. She shook her head.

«It’s a _Dalek_. It doesn't _help_ anyone.»

The Seeker’s face was infuriatingly impassive.

«Well, this one _does_.»

She almost felt like laughing.

«It’s tricking you. So it evolved. Learned how to lie. It's not your friend.»

Finally a tiny crack, as the Seeker closed his eyes momentarily, before fixing her with one of those ‘Why must you be _so very annoying_?’ stares:

«I’ve been inside its head. _Trust_ me, it's not lying.»

«You did _what_?!»

Of all the insane things to claim to have done…

«Long story.»

He stopped, looked around at the humans, who were now slowly regrouping, picking up their guns and aiming them once more.

«Oh for crying out loud.»

Lifting the laser, he pressed a button.

“There. That’s all your guns rendered unusable. I need to tend to my Dalek.”

Turning to the creature he picked up the eyestalk from the floor, his mouth set in a grim line, even as he tried to keep the tone light.

“What did the nasty Time Lady do to you, eh Caan?”

“I. Am. Blind.” The Dalek staccatoed. “I. Am. In. Pain.”

“Come on,” he said, gently guiding it towards the TARDIS. Roda swallowed against the bile rising in her throat. His hand on the dome was so _wrong_ , on so many levels, that she couldn’t even begin to work through the layers of disgust and revulsion. His back was to her, the shot would be clean… Silently she reached for her sonic, which a human had dropped close by, and worried her lip, wondering if she could use the sonic to make the gun function again. Wondered whether she _should_.

The Captain chose that moment to shakily sit up, helped by some of the other humans. 

“You see? You see how he cares about monsters, but kills _us_?”

The Seeker snapped round, hand still on the Dalek’s dome.

“My father once called the human race the greatest monsters of them all. I wish I could disagree.”

“Oh so high and mighty,” the Captain shot back. “Think yourself so above it all.” He practically spat the words out. 

“Time Lords! What do _you_ know of humanity?”

A second, then the Seeker left the Dalek’s side and slowly and deliberately walked back to the Captain, crouching down beside him.

“Well, here’s a secret for you. I am half-human on my mother’s side. I grew up on Earth-that-was a long long time ago. I saw with my own eyes the greed, the destruction, the wars, the sheer _suffering_ humanity visited upon its own kind. Earth could have been a paradise, but they destroyed it. So believe you me, I know everything about humans. I have _lived_ it. It’s lucky for you that my uncle was a wide-eyed idealist who told me it was my _duty_ as a Time Lord to look after lesser species, even when they don’t deserve it.”

Getting to his feet, the Captain gaping at him, the Seeker smiled coldly.

“And I have rarely met anyone who deserves it less than you.”

Ushering the Dalek into the TARDIS, he then turned to Roda.

“Coming?”

She hesitated, and he switched to Gallifreyan:

«I think we need to talk. I promise you will be safe. You can drive?»

Adrenaline was still pumping, anger like a third pulse thrumming beneath her skin, but she appreciated his point.

«OK.»

As she stepped forwards, one of the humans called out.

“You can’t leave us like this-“

The Seeker’s response was so dismissive it felt like a slap.

“We are _Time_ Lords. Think, for once in your stupid life.”

Glaring, she stepped into the TARDIS. There was, indeed, a _lot_ they needed to discuss.

But she brought the gun. Just in case.


	25. A Long Way from Sherwood 10

The Seeker noticed the gun, but said nothing. If it made her feel safer, that was good. And although she was obviously freaking out, she was holding it together better than Jack had, which was also good.

«Where are we going?» he asked, indicating the central control panel, and she cautiously laid the gun down on one of the sofas, before experimentally pulling a lever. 

The engines jumped to life, she shot him an odd look.

«What?» he asked.

«I just… presumed it’d all be isomorphic, knowing you.»

«It is.»

Sighing, he shook his head.

«You and Jack are my best friends. You have access to everything, more or less.»

«What’s the less?»

A beat, as they studied each other.

«Just get us away from those blasted humans, OK? I have Caan to attend to.»

He saw the way she gritted her teeth at his words. To her, Caan was just ‘a Dalek’. An enemy. A symbol of all the suffering and fighting and loss she had endured… 

It wasn’t that he didn’t care, or was oblivious to how she felt. But it was very impractical, and inaccurate to boot. He hoped that using Caan’s name would help her see how it was different.

Resigned, she did as he asked, and the TARDIS took off.

«Right, there is a kitchen through there if you want a cup of tea while you wait-»

«Oh I’m coming with you,» she countered, picking up the gun again.

Knowing a lost battle, he nodded in defeat. One step forward, two steps back. All the trust he’d built, vanished. Bloody humans and their bloody rebelliousness. And what she was about to witness wouldn’t endear him to her further.

«Fine. But you won’t like it.»

Without waiting he turned and steered Caan down the corridor, Roda cautiously following.

Thankfully his TARDIS shorted the journey, and before long he opened the door to the Dalek workshops. 

Row upon neat row of spare parts; domes, eye stalks, raw Dalekanium… He had it all. Right down to several dead, half-dead and partially dismembered Daleks in little tanks. Spare parts were spare parts, whether biological or mechanical.

Carefully undoing the dome, he did his best to asses the damage as he heard Roda’s sharp intake of breath. 

«Quite the collector, aren’t you?» she remarked, and he shrugged.

«As I mentioned before, I fought a war against the Daleks. Since I kept Caan, it seemed prudent to get some spare parts.»

_«Some.»_

The word was as pointed as an arrow, but he was not going to apologise for being curious. Dalek technology was genius, and something as insignificant as personal distaste wouldn’t stop him from learning all he could.

Caan gurgled at him as he patched up the broken connections and fixed the eye back where it ought to be, and after a minute Roda mumbled something about feeling sick and started perusing the shelves. He ignored her, and kept working.

It wasn’t until he was gently positioning a new dome onto the top of the casing that he realised her footsteps had died down completely. 

Quickly checking a screen, he swore quietly. Telling Caan to stay put, he swiftly followed her, catching up just as she reached the one door she should have stayed away from.

« _Roda_ ,» he said, and she turned, still as coiled and ready to snap as a highly strung bow. «Don’t open that door.»

«And why not?» she countered defensively.

«Because you are already upset enough. I don’t want to make it worse.»

She raised an incredulous eyebrow. «Make it _worse_? What have you got behind there? Skaro?»

He hesitated, and her expression hardened; he could only guess at the expletives flitting across her mind.

Then she opened the door and froze, foot suspended in midair, unwilling to make contact with the floor, awestruck horror vivid on her face.

The Seeker grasped the laser. Just in case.


	26. A Long Way from Sherwood 11

For endless seconds she couldn’t breathe.

The Dalek had been a shock, but this was like being body slammed, the impact too much for her already highly-strung nerves.

Staggering back, she collapsed against a wall, unable to process the sight that had greeted her. Maybe she was losing it. Could a hallucination be that real?

Momentarily pressing her fingers against her eyes, a kaleidoscope of colour bursting to life, she took a deep breath and opened her eyes.

Above her stood the Seeker, laser in his hand, and it was like yet another deja vu - this time from The Year That Never Was, memories she barely had access to, slipping in and out of focus, the Master standing above her, laser in his hand, just the same, just the same, she’d never be free; the War, the pain, it’d always follow her, she was caught forever in a loop.

Except the next bit didn’t follow the script in her head.

«Roda…»

The Seeker crouched down in front of her (so much like the Master, she had to close her eyes again), but then he threw her expectations to the wind and sat down beside her, shoulders almost touching. Like a friend. Like-

«Look, I’m sorry. For just… being me. For getting you captured, practically killed, trying to dictate my methods in how to deal with everything, and now by re-traumatising you… If there is anything I can do - even if that something is just removing myself from your life effective immediately…»

Clasping her hands together, fighting to find some sort of response, she eventually managed to speak.

«“Why-» she couldn’t finish the sentence, red upon red upon red still flooding her mind.

«Why do I have a substantial chunk of the Crucible incorporated into my TARDIS?»

He sighed. 

«Well, like I told you, I won a war. And the Daleks had _planet moving_ technology… Which I took. But it was integral to their ship, so I sort of detached a whole bit? Hell of a job, on top of fighting a lengthy battle, but it was worth it. A good day, all told.»

(A day? A _day_? A _good_ day? Wars were not fought and won in a day, they lasted months, years, _forever_ ; spreading until the whole universe was burning and you felt as if it had consumed you whole. Even now it was still burning through her.)

«How can you-» Her voice broke, and he tapped the laser against his knee thoughtfully.

«How can I bear to even look at it, never mind have it on my ship?» A pause. «Well - a murderer’s knife is still a knife. If something is useful, that’s what matters. Take the laser as a prime example…»

His voice trailed off as she turned to look at him, not bothering to hide her pain or her fury.

«You have no _idea_!»

(No idea what you are talking about, no idea about suffering, no idea about loss, no idea about fighting, no idea about _war_!)

She couldn’t articulate it all out loud, but he lowered his eyes.

«True. But I have observed the effects in those around me.» A momentary hesitation, as he glanced at her. «I don’t know what you know of my father’s role in the Time War, but he saw the Crucible and took a one-way trip to the end of the universe, fob watching himself in the process.» 

Something that was almost a chuckle. 

«When the Doctor eventually found him, he was a kindly old human professor, busy saving the last of humanity. You can remind him of that if/when you meet again…»

«Why are you telling me this?»

He stroked his beard thoughtfully.

«I think… Because I’m the anomaly. Quite possibly because of my upbringing. I don’t share in your loss or grief. To me, the equipment through that door is quite simply just useful. Dalek, Sontaran, human – it makes very little difference to me. It probably should, but – it doesn’t.»

The look on her face must have spoken volumes, and he added:

«All of this is like... seeing myself in a mirror. It's not very flattering. I ran away to a whole different universe to get away from that image, and here it is again, worse than before.»

She couldn't help snorting, and he shrugged:

«No wonder you - other you - broke up with me. I am, and always have been, a self-impressed, blinkered jerk, and I don't deserve your friendship.»

Uncertain she had understood him right, she queried his word-choice:

«Broke up?»

«We were lovers,» he replied matter-of-factly. «For about a century.»

The Dalek horror momentarily forgotten, she could only stare at the Master clone beside her.

«The other me must be a very forgiving sort,» she muttered, and he sighed.

«Oh I didn't have any Dalek paraphernalia back then. Also I had a different face. I was quite, quite stunning… Cheek bones up to here, hair the colour of the sky. I was quite the catch.»

 _Skaro_ , he was insufferable.

«Am I supposed to be impressed?»

The Seeker swore under his breath, in a language that sounded like 21st Century Earth something, and shook his head.

«This is getting us nowhere. What would like me to _do_?»

«You seem to have done _quite enough_!»

He opened his mouth to reply, closed it again and fell silent.

Roda shook her head. This wasn’t working.

«Space.»

«What?»

He tilted his head, obviously confused by the answer, which gave Roda that little bit of courage it took to lift her head again, and try to look him in the eye. See if this was another one of his lies - like his father, so much like his father and yet _not_ \- or the honest truth.

«I need space.»

The Seeker made to stand, and made an admirable attempt to hide the pain in his eyes. 

«I... as you wish. Just let me know where to drop you off, I'll leave you to-»

«No.» She grabbed his arm, holding on too tight. (She had to remind herself he was real. The world was spinning still, everything upside down. Long sentences were still beyond her.) 

«We owe those people _something_. You can't just leave.»

He ran his free hand through his hair. «Then _what do you want me to do_?»

«Skaro!» she swore, anger flaring up again, «You’re impossible.» She dropped his arm, and used the wall to pull herself to her feet. «I need some air.»

The Seeker’s TARDIS thankfully shortened the walk, and in mere moments she was stepping out of the doors.

She had parked on the mountain above the human ‘city’, on a ledge where she had previously spent time observing the humans, unseen. She had expected a soothing, if humid, breeze, the smell of wet growing things, the odd chirping sounds of the long legged insects that built nests in the highest trees…

Instead she was met with dark smoke, the scent of burning and the unmistakable sounds of fighting and weapons being fired. Screams and angry voices, both human and Crinitus, also drifted up, and she found herself paralysed for endless seconds.

How long had they been gone? Ten minutes? Fifteen? Maybe more? She guessed the Crinitus would have taken advantage of the diversion - and the Time Lords’ absence - to launch an attack. If they had been planning something like this, it made sense that they had been so reluctant to engage in the peace process…

‘Space’ would clearly have to wait…

Silently (stomping down on her more spiky and conflicted emotions) she went back inside, found the Seeker, and wordlessly dragged him back outside, ignoring his confusion. He stopped beside her on the ledge, grasping hold of the tree growing sideways across the edge and forming a natural waist-high barrier.

« _This_ ,» she said grimly, «is war.»

It was almost like her dream coming true… Although if nothing else, this time both sides were more or less equally armed. Not that that was a cheering thought.

Taking in the tableaux below, he sighed, bowing his head in what looked like defeat.

«I’m sorry. It’s my fault. I got it wrong. I don’t know what I could have done differently, but somewhere there was a fundamental flaw. »

«And when did you have this blinding insight? Just now?»

Her voice was acid, but she didn’t care.

However he didn’t rise to the bait. 

«Last night… But I was too angry then. With the humans, they- Nevermind. It’s too late now. Maybe it was always too late.»

She wanted to scream and shake him, instead letting her fingers grasp the wood under her hands so tightly she could almost feel it breaking.

«We can't leave it like this!» she retorted, and he shook his head: 

«But what _can_ we do? Whose side are we on? It was all a wire act before, now they'll _never_ …»

Letting go she took a step back, leaned against the TARDIS (now in the shape of an Earth tree, its brown-and-green clashing with the pale blues and greys surrounding it) and swallowed bitterly. Being angry with him was easy, but she knew that in the end it wasn’t so simple.

He’d stepped in, young and driven and _pleased_ to take charge. And she was old and tired. 

«You’re wrong,» she said eventually. «It’s my fault. I got here too late. If only I had gotten here sooner, if I'd managed to steer them to safety elsewhere before they crashed here-»

Her voice trailed off, and they watched the unfolding carnage below in silence. There was a large explosion. And then another. The Crinitus had gotten clever…

«You still could,» the Seeker eventually said, proving that despite all differences their thoughts were running in the same direction. 

She shook her head.

«And what? Add all of these to the ranks of the never-were?»

The Seeker shrugged. 

«They’re currently being added to the ranks of the recently deceased…»

His cold - almost brutal - logic was painful, yet for the first time she appreciated it. 

«Is never living worse than a life in pain?» she said softly, and he stroked his beard thoughtfully.

«It’s your call,» he eventually said.

She didn’t reply, eyes growing distant, weighing what could be against what was, and what must not. 

People, names, faces. Little Aisha - _alive_ \- “what will happen to us?” 

She was so _tired_ of war, she had just wanted to save them… 

Was she being cruel or kind - or playing god? And was there a difference?


	27. A Long Way from Sherwood Epilogue

They were crashing.

Engines running on empty, no hope in hell of reaching their destination, the Captain had steered his craft towards the nearest planet within reach.

A quick scan had showed it had an atmosphere breathable by humans, plant life, a few indigenous species. It would have to do.

Whatever waited below, it couldn’t be as bad as what they were running _from_ … Only five ships making the escape, and four of those minuscule by space travelling standards, cobbled together in haste and trailing in his wake like dinghies pulled by a boat. 

He sent instructions to the other vessels, but knew that for the most part it would be down to luck. The anti-grav rotors should be able to cushion the blow somewhat, but that was all. 

Bloody Daleks. Bloody Time Lords. War-mongering fiends the lot of them, creating nothing but destruction and chaos and death. Would peace ever return to the universe?

The planet rising below him - pale blues and greys, a world that looked like it had faded in the wash - he closed his eyes for a moment, praying to gods he barely believed in.

_‘Save us.’_

A vision flashed before his eyes;

> _his husband, body broken, murdered by a strange alien bird; their children ailing, sick, dying, small bodies swollen from something toxic and lethal_

Eyes snapping open, his heart beating in sudden unvoiceable terror, he took a deep, shaky breath, hands trembling as he tightened his hold on the controls. The control room, as familiar as his own face, was the same as always, but he felt like it was closing in, grounded, decaying; anger and bitterness wrapping themselves around him like-

Forcing himself to focus on the steering (it was stress, the stress of fleeing, the stress of the war that had engulfed his home, the stress of being the one responsible for the safety of his people), he - bewildered - realised that they were no longer crashing. The planet was spread out below, but the panoramic view was receding, moment by moment, and they were merely grazing the atmosphere and sailing further on.

The strange vision faded from his mind as if never there, as he marvelled at the miracle before him. How was this possible?

Messages appeared from the other vessels, asking how he was doing it, and he had to be honest - he had no idea.

“Maybe the gods heard my prayer,” he muttered to himself, slowly letting go of the controls and watching as the ship continued as before. Was this what going insane was like? Was it a dream?

It didn’t feel like insanity. It felt like hope. Stupendous, impossible hope. 

And for no reason at all he started laughing.

~~~

Roda watched the humans emerge from the ships; disoriented, but happy.

The Captain (younger, _smiling_ ) was the first to walk down the ramp, a young child held gently by the hand, and beside him another man with a baby.

The overlapping of _what-had-been-but-would-now-never-be with what-now-was_ was not unfamiliar, but the joy of the new time line was like a fresh tank of oxygen after being stranded without air for days (months, years).

The Seeker had resolutely refused to be there.

«This is your victory. Enjoy.»

He was watching from a distance, ready to appear if she decided she needed him. And for a second she thought she might.

The man who had cursed them as they left, the man who had stabbed her through the chest with her own knife- 

(She could do this…)

He approached her with wonder in his eyes, the child at his side tugging at his hand, and Roda felt something unfurling inside. 

“Who is the lady, daddy? Where are we daddy? Daddy _answer_!”

“Who are you?” he asked (the old man she had known was not dead, _he-would-not-exist_ ). “Was it you who saved us?”

"Yes..." she replied, careful to keep the strain out of her voice. Still, looking at the children, _alive_ , the hope and wonder of childhood still in them, she couldn't stop a genuine smile from spreading across her face.

(Jacob, Aisha, all the others - she would remember them always, the way she remembered all the victims of the War.)

Dropping down on one knee so she was face-to-face with the older child (four, maybe five by human reckoning?) she spoke:

"I helped your daddy steer the ship so you wouldn't get hurt. What's your name?"

“I’m Amaal. Who are you?"

‘Hope’ she translated. Fitting.

"I... my name is the Redjay."

Amaal studied her intently, eyes narrowing.

“Hi Redjay. I like your feathers.”

She smiled.

"I do, too. Do you like the new home I picked for you...? We can go somewhere else if you want."

The Captain had gone quiet, as Amaal looked around. The ships had landed on a large plain, a prairie covered in white grasses stretching out towards the horizon where it was met with a forest of purple ferns growing some twenty, thirty, forty feet tall. Above them a pink sky held two distant suns, a dusting of stars shining through the morning light. 

Considering for a long moment, Amaal eventually nodded firmly.

“I like it. We’ll stay.”

This. This moment. This child. All the pain, all the heartache, it had all been worth it for this.

Tears momentarily blurring her eyes (she had saved them, she had people to look after, to _help_ ) she barely registered the Seeker’s TARDIS fading away. 

Today was a _good_ day.

~~~

The Seeker watched the unfolding scene, until he saw that all would be well.

With a quick flick of a lever, he soundlessly stole away. Hesitating a moment, he then jumped forwards a few millennia. 

The humans had multiplied and spread out, the plains now dominated by a large sprawling city, busy and bustling and clearly well-to-do. Reminded him faintly of the Mayans, with a beautiful grid structure and many open squares.

At the centre of the town was a large temple. Parking unobtrusively in a quiet corner, invisibility shields on, he wrapped himself up in a hooded cloak and stepped out, blending in as he made his way up the steps to the temple entrance.

Inside the space was bright and airy and cool, sunlight falling through cleverly positioned windowpanes in the ceiling high above, illuminating the statue at the centre.

As he walked up to it, careful not to disturb the people praying or paying their respects to their deity, a data scroll unfurled and softly began speaking, reciting the history of the planet and their extraordinary origin.

But he wasn’t listening.

Studying the statue, he couldn’t stop a deep, contented smile.

Some of the details had been lost or altered in the intervening millennia, but as a symbol it still represented everything he could have hoped for.

A woman, simply clad in woodland clothing, feathers in her hair, was kneeling down by a child, studying the young face with love and devotion.

_‘And thus it was that The Redjay, the Last of the Time Lords, a wonder of love and generosity unmatched in all of the galaxies, did not just steer our ancestors’ ships to this, our blessed home, but listened to even the smallest child, and left us her vision and her guidance….’_

The data scroll eventually stopped speaking, but the Seeker only shook his head softly.

«Goddess,» he whispered to himself. Caan had been right all along. 

Touching his forehead in a simple gesture of reverence, he too paid his respects. 

He would not forget. And he would be sure to honour her.

~~~

Some time later, there was a knock on the door of Roda’s TARDIS.

Frowning she opened it, eyes widening in surprise when the hypercube flew in and landed in her hand, the Seeker’s signature easily visible.

His message was short and to the point, which was unsurprising; that was very much him after all. But what was odd to her was its point. She hadn't thought they had parted on the best of terms, but she'd been too busy helping the humans to build their lives to really have much time to think about him. 

And yet, reading the two short sentences, she found herself smiling.

 

_Thank you._  
I will always remember what you taught me.  
S. 

 

It was… _gracious_. Which she had not expected of him. 

Suddenly laughing, she fell down into a chair, tossing the hypercube into the air and catching it again. The Master’s son sending her heartfelt thank you notes!

Whatever next?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Will be continued in Not What She Expected, where the Seeker meets Missy.


	28. Not What She Expected 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  _Summary_ : Missy meets the Seeker.  
>  _Setting_ : Immediately after Missy disappears/disintegrates in Death in Heaven (the S8 finale). Works rather perfectly as a little FitB to canon. Only three chapters, and then he's off back home again. :)

She re-appeared, but not where she had expected to.

Looking around, Missy saw she was in a TARDIS. It was brightly lit, the central column glowing golden, the walls white with a few pieces of white/red furniture along the edges. A fairly new model, but… odd. Nothing she could put her finger on immediately, but it was obviously not a standard issue - the little telltale factory specifications seemed to be missing, the ‘tools’ far more whimsical… as if a custom model. Did they do those anymore? The war had stifled any creativity…

«He was actually going to kill you,» a voice said, and she looked up to see a black-haired youth with a neat beard study her with puzzled green eyes. «They say travel expands your horizons, but this was something I never thought I’d see. What the hell did you do? Apart from the cyber army made out of dead people?»

For a moment she just stared, not sure how to tackle this. Was he from Gallifrey? (He was certainly not a future version of either herself or the Doctor, and that narrowed the field considerably.) She inched nearer to the console - he couldn’t be more than a few centuries old at the most, and (she did a swift mental scan) he didn’t seem to have any back-up. Maybe they’d sent him to track her down - some brilliant kid who thought he had the stuff, thinking he could earn himself a pat on the cheek from Rassilon. She almost chuckled. Bless his little cotton socks, she’d eat him alive. And his TARDIS seemed a neat little thing - she could do with transport now UNIT were probably all over hers.

A sudden smile from the lad threw her a little, as did the words that followed: «Damn clever, but did you honestly think he’d go for it? I’ve not got a lot of scruples, but - although an army like that might come in handy - even I find it a bit too macabre to emulate.»

«Who are you?» she asked, making sure he was focussing on _her_ as she gently laid a hand on the console, stroking a switch so softly he’d never notice… Except instead she got a shock, and withdrew her hand sharply.

«Christ almighty, do you have live wires in that?»

He smirked at her, eyes dancing in a way that stopped her short.

«No - the controls are isomorphic. And I’m the Seeker. Are you planning on thanking me for saving you, or are you just going to take it for granted?»

«Isomorphic controls,» she said, recalling a very lovely laser screwdriver… «Who taught you that?»

That smile again.

«You did - dad.»

Slowly she circumnavigated the central controls, eyeing him up. Black hair, green eyes, simple white shirt, black trousers and shoes… Not a single thing that she could pin down. Nothing to either confirm or undermine his crazy lie.

Although she might have underestimated him - it was certainly a thoroughly _unexpected_ lie, and showed considerable imagination. She’d be sad to kill him…

Ah well, the lie could prove a useful crutch for moving forwards.

«You… are my son?» she asked, imbuing her voice with a hint of a motherly tremble, before bringing up her hand to her chest. «This is… so unexpected. I never realised… Sorry, I’m quite overcome-»

Doing a quite frankly fabulous job of ‘fumbling for a handkerchief’, eyes misting up, she was shocked at the metal object that suddenly appeared about an inch from her left heart - not to mention the knife that simultaneously touched her neck from behind.

«Don’t even think about it,» the kid said, and - eyes widening - she realised that the weapon he was threatening her with was _her very own laser screwdriver_.

«How the hell did you get that?» she snapped, and he tilted his head.

«You gave it to me for my eighth birthday.»

«Enough with the lies!»

She was angry now (it had been a long day and all her plans had been _ruined_ ), but he merely reached out with his free hand and emptied all her pockets.

«Not lying, you stubborn old thing, and if you’d bother to turn your head, you’d see something like proof.»

Having ignored the knife, she glanced up and faltered for the second time. It was a Toclafane, clear as day. Her own beautiful Toclafane…

She was distracted when he spoke again, studying her head:

«Are the hairpins poisonous?»

«Are they what now?» she asked, and he caught her eyes.

«Your hairpins. Are they poisonous? I’ll probably let you keep them, but I’d like to know, just for reference.»

«You have a very twisted mind, young man,» she said, with gravity, and he grinned at her, pocketing the laser. The knife, however, stayed where it was.

«What else would you expect? You brought me up.»

This was getting ridiculous.

«Look, stop already. It’s very entertaining, and the Toclafane is a _lovely_ touch, but we both know that you are not my child. Trust me, I’d recognise you if you were, no matter your face.»

Stepping back, he frowned.

«Oh I’m not from this universe, I thought you’d worked that out.»

She rolled her eyes. He was impossibly stubborn, and she felt a keen urge to give him a slap. (Whilst he was confused she could prick him with one of the hairpins… How had he guessed they were poison tipped?) But maybe not yet, let him lower his guard first.

«Well goodness gracious me, what a marvellously clever chap you are.» (Too much sarcasm? No, that wasn’t possible.) «How did you end up here? Trying to find Gallifrey and getting lost?»

It was his turn to look surprised.

«Gallifrey? Gallifrey is long gone. Burnt up and dead.»

«Oh but it’s not, you know,» she sing-songed. «I know where it is…»

And then - he laughed. In her face!

«Even if that were true - and kudos for the double-lie, that’s impressive - why would I want to find Gallifrey? I’m planning to rule the universe, I really don’t want a bunch of stuffy old idiots in stupid collars thinking they can tell me what to do. The Doctor is bad enough - did you see that fez of his that he used to wear?»

For a moment she was actually speechless.

Then…

«You want to rule the universe?»

All of a sudden she found herself hoping that his fanciful stories were true, and in his smile - shimmering with mischief - she saw something that sparked recognition.

«Finally got your attention, did I?» he said smugly, and her eyes narrowed.

This could become interesting…

~

«OK, Harvey, at ease. Actually - pop off and put the kettle on, would you?»

And just like that the nasty threatening thing was gone!

How exactly a Toclafane would ‘put the kettle on’ was a bit of a conundrum to be sure, but she wasn’t bothered, as long as the bauble was otherwise occupied.

She smiled slowly, stepping up to him, and he tilted his head, a little puzzled. (Yes he might be interesting, but hey - she was bananas!)

And then - she was behind him, a hairpin at his throat.

«It’s a shame to kill you, you’re obviously a clever lad, but I shall have to come to terms with the loss. Go on now - say something nice?»

Thankfully he didn’t struggle (it’d just make her hand slip, and she was curious to see what he might say…) - but when he spoke, she was genuinely thrown.

«I have a pet Dalek?»

Frowning, she studied his calm profile.

«Excuse me?»

«Well *I* think it’s a nice thing. And I know you’ve worked with Daleks in the past…»

Gritting her teeth, she held the pin as still as she could. Kids these days.

«Say. Something. _Nice_.»

He sighed.

«Oh fine. Activate holding cell!»

And before she knew what was happening the whole world turned white.


	29. Not What She Expected 2

Missy found herself in a round, white room, encased in a see-through but very powerful cylindrical holding cell.

She was not impressed.

After a long while a door appeared and the kid walked through. He studied her silently for a moment, then pulled out a cigar from a pocket, thoughtfully lit it, and - after taking a deep drag, making her positively jealous (how long had it been since she’d had a cigar?) - walked forward, addressing her.

«The humans have a game… Well it featured in a Bond movie, and it’s the sort of stupid game they’d invent, so I presume it’s a thing... Anyway. They place a scorpion on their hand, then attempt to lift a drink to their mouth and empty the glass without the scorpion stinging them, before swiftly trapping the scorpion under the glass. I always thought it a foolish idea, although it would seem I just needed a different sort of scorpion.»

She glared back, deadpan.

«Well thank you for that _fascinating_ little insight into your psyche.»

«My pleasure,» he replied, equally cool. «The point is that you very nearly stung me. As checks on my vanity goes, that comes in at a solid second place.»

She raised an eyebrow.

«And what - if I’d succeeded, I’d have earned the top spot?»

He shook his head.

«Oh no, makes no difference. However, as I now know what kind of scorpion I’m dealing with, I figured we might have another go at introducing ourselves. What name do you go by? Domina?»

(The latin female for ‘Master’. Clever of him, dammit.)

«Missy,» she replied, and he nodded. «Short for Mistress I suppose. Well - _my_ name is Alexander the Great. ‘Great One’ for short. Oh and don’t look like that, _you_ named me! In private I go by ‘the Seeker’.»

What he was going to say next (she had been too busy rolling her eyes to listen properly) was thankfully cut short as the door opened again, revealing a Dalek carrying a tray with a bottle of Lagavulin and a glass.

Which, to be fair, was possibly the most unexpected sight so far. The kid was a rollercoaster.

He beamed.

«I mentioned my pet Dalek, didn’t I? Wonderful thing, Daleks. Your holding cell is Dalek-technology by the way, specifically created to contain Time Lords. Good, isn’t it? But I should probably introduce you: Missy, this is Dalek Caan, the last surviving member of the Cult of Skaro. Caan, this is Missy, this universe’s Master - any thoughts?»

The Dalek turned its eyestalk on her, and she pulled a face at it. What kind of Time Lord had a pet Dalek?

«The Queen of Evil’s story is not yet over,» the Dalek declared, and the Seeker turned a musing eye on her.  
«So I can’t kill her then?»

Affecting a thoroughly shocked expression, she said: «You would kill me? A helpless prisoner?»

«Sure,» he replied, «You’re an evil, psychotic megalomaniac. Plus, you tried to kill me.»

«Does your father know you speak like this, young man?»

«Course he does,» the lad chuckled. «Wouldn’t expect anything else. Now -» he looked around. «Can I have a chair please?»

A chair (leather, cosy) appeared and he sat down, pouring himself a glass of whiskey and studying her carefully.

«Tell me about Gallifrey,» he said.

«And why would I do that?» she asked archly.

A shrug, accompanied by a little smile.

«Oh you don’t have to. But I can be very patient if I have to. Or I could just go for the Roda approach and kill you, nevermind what the Dalek says.»

«The what approach now?»

His brow drew together.

«Roda. The Redjay. Rodageitmososa? Your arch-enemy? Not in the best-enemies way of the Doctor, you just hate each other’s guts. No bells? Darn, all this parallel-universe travelling is complicated - all my best friends are missing.»

She sighed deeply.

«If you’re just going to go through your friends-list, could you just kill me and get it over with? Dying of boredom doesn’t really appeal much.»

At which he smiled fondly and tilted his head.

«Oh you never change, do you?»

She thought she might hate him.

~

_Sometime later._

He got up and walked away, the Dalek trailing behind him, still carrying the tray.

«So what - you’ll just leave me here?» she asked, and he turned at the door, the cigar held loosely in his right hand.

«Yes. Yes I will do just that. Quite literally. Best take a deep breath.»

It took a couple of seconds for her to parse his meaning.

«Are you serious?»

«I’m always serious,» he replied, «And you always have a way out.» And with that, he left.

Yes, she hated him. Hated his annoying superiority, his overbearing smirk, his bloody efficient holding cell.

One day…

And then the engines started up and the TARDIS slowly dematerialised around her, and she had to concentrate on _not dying_ , now she was suddenly surrounded by nothing except space.


	30. Not What She Expected 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It is finally done! Thank you everyone who has been reading. <3

The Seeker watched Missy pull angry faces - and then vanish, some back-up plan or other being put into action.

Involuntarily his left hand went up to his neck, where her hairpin had touched his skin…

It had been a close call. Far too close for comfort. Playing Russian Roulette with his ‘father’s’ feelings… He should have known better.

Taking a slow drag of the cigar, letting the smoke burn through him, his eyes hardened. 

The Doctor had read him The Jungle Books (with hindsight preparing the Child of Two Worlds to be welcome in neither), but his father had handed mummy ‘Bambi: A Life in the Woods’. People whom he had told usually wondered at this, thinking of syrup-y Disney movies. They did not know his father. Or Bambi. Prince of the forest.

> He was snuggled up to his mother, the old book held securely in her hands, the bedside lamp lighting her face in a soft golden glow. 
> 
> _“What are you crying about?” the old stag asked severely. Bambi trembled in awe and did not dare answer. “Your mother has no time for you now,” the old stag went on. Bambi was completely dominated by his powerful voice and at the same time, he admired it. “Can’t you stay by yourself? Shame on you!”_
> 
> Alexander Saxon was four years old, and he knew when he was being taught a lesson.  
> 

  


Turning away from the monitor, he flicked a handle. He’d learned to stay by himself a long, long time ago.

He also knew what an empty lesson it had been. Especially in the light of his travels. 

Missy’s poison pin had come after Roda’s knife, Jack’s gun… People - who in another world loved him - looking at him with fear and revulsion. It hadn’t been a particularly pleasant lesson to take on board, but useful all the same. 

_Don’t take people for granted. They owe you nothing. In a different life they might detest you._

But also - they might appreciate him in entirely different ways. And they had taught him things he could not have learned otherwise. 

Nodding to himself, he knew he had already made the decision - it was time to go home. 

After all he had a universe to rule, and he now knew how to go about it. His stepping sideways for a bit had definitely been worth it. 

Fin

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now, myself & redjaded(timeheist) already wrote the story of what happened when the Seeker returned (which was most definitely not what he expected) - so if you are curious/would like to read it again:
> 
>  
> 
> [The Death and Life of Rodageitmososa](http://archiveofourown.org/works/3064382/chapters/6649754)


End file.
